•:, 


3CRTRA/4Q 

*i.RES  Of- 


ON«  BEACH.  CAUF. 


MR.  WAYTS  WIFE'S  SISTER 


MR.  WAYT'S 

WIFE'S  SISTER 


BY 

MARION  HARLAND 

(£Maiy  Virginia  Terhune) 

AUTHOR  OP  "JUDITH,"  "WITH  THK  BEST  INTENTIONS,"  "HANDICAPPED,' 

"  LOITERINGS  IN  PLEASANT  PATHS,"  "  COMMON  SBNSB  IN 

THE  HOUSEHOLD,"   ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

THE   CASSELL  PUBLISHING  CO. 
31  EAST  I;TH  ST.  (UNION  SQUARE; 


COPYRIGHT,  1894,  BY 
THE  CASSELL  PUBLISHING  CO. 


A II  rights 


THB   MKRSHON  COMPANY   PRESS, 
RAHWAY,  N.  J. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

MR.  WAVT'S  WIFE'S  SISTER, i 

A  SOCIAL  SUCCESS 203 

THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION 251 


2061990 


MR.   WAYT'S  WIFE'S  SISTER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ONE  breezy  May  day,  such  a  little  while  ago 
that  it  is  hardly  safe  to  name  the  year,  a  New 
Jersey  ferry  "car-boat"  was  so  far  behind  her  time 
that  the  12.30  train  for  Fairhill  left  without  wait- 
ing for  her. 

Ignorant,  or  incredulous  of  the  untoward  hap- 
pening, the  passengers  rushed  for  and  through 
the  station  to  find  egress  discouraged  by  the  im- 
passive official  whose  stentorian  tones  were  roar- 
ing through  the  building  the  name  and  stopping 
places  of  the  next  train.  Among  the  foremost  in 
the  pell-mell  run  was  a  hazel-eyed  young  man 
with  a  gripsack  in  his  hand,  and  the  olive  bronze 
of  a  sea  voyage  upon  a  very  good-looking  face. 
He  was  always  persuaded  that  he  could  have 
eluded  the  great-voiced  doorkeeper  and  boarded 
the  last  platform  of  the  moving  cars,  had  he  not 
run  afoul  of  a  wheeled  chair  midway  between  the 
seats  and  inconveniently  set  radiators  in  the  wait- 
ing room,  and  narrowly  escaped  a  "header."  He 


2  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

did  not  actually  fall;  neither  did  he  overset  the 
vehicle.  Avoiding  both  calamities  by  vaulting 
the  dashboard  and  front  wheels,  he  yet  dropped 
his  hat  and  valise  in  different  directions,  and 
brought  up  at  an  obtuse  angle  by  catching  at 
one  of  the  marble-topped  radiators.  The  first  use 
he  made  of  his  hat,  which  was  picked  up  by  a 
smiling  bystander,  was  to  lift  it  to  a  woman  who 
was  propelling  what  he  had  mistaken  for  a  baby's 
perambulator. 

"'I  beg  your  pardon,  I  am  sure!"  he  said,  in 
manly  fashion.  "I  hope  the" — he  was  about  to 
say  "baby,"  but  changed  the  phraseology  just  in 
time — "that  nobody  was  hurt!" 

A  glimpse  of  the  occupant  of  the  chair  had 
showed  him  a  wan  face  too  old  for  a  child's,  too 
small  for  that  of  a  grown  person.  Before  the 
woman  addressed  could  reply,  elfish  accents, 
husky  and  precise,  said,  "Not  at  all — thank 
you!"  and  there  was  a  cackle  of  shrill,  feeble 
laughter. 

The  young  fellow  had  lost  the  train  that  should 
have  returned  him  in  forty  minutes  to  the  family 
he  had  not  seen  in  six  months ;  he  was  just  off 
shipboard,  and  felt  the  need  of  a  bath  and  toilet 
upon  steady  ground,  with  plenty  of  elbow  room. 
He  had  come  near  having  a  bad  fall,  and  had  not 
missed  making  a  ludicrous  spectacle  of  himself 
for  the  entertainment  of  a  gaping  crowd.  But  he 
laughed  in  a  jolly,  gentlemanly  way,  and  again 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTEK.  3 

raising  his  hat  passed  on  without  a  second  glance 
at  the  mute  personage  who  had  pushed  the 
wagon  directly  across  his  track. 

Like  the  rest  of  the  disappointed  wayfarers  he 
walked  quite  up  to  the  outlet  of  the  station,  and 
peered  anxiously  through  at  the  empty  rails,  still 
vibrating  from  the  wheels  of  the  vanishing  train, 
yet  he  neither  frowned  nor  swore.  He  did  not 
even  ask:  "When  does  the  next  train  go  to  Fair- 
hill?"  The  time-table  in  his  pocket  and  that 
upon  the  wall,  set  at  "2  P.  M.,"  told  him  all  and 
more  than  he  wanted  to  know.  The  excitement 
and  suspense  over,  his  inner  man  became  impor- 
tunate. He  had  had  an  early  breakfast  on  the 
City  of  Rome,  and  was  far  hungrier  now  than 
then.  Doubling  upon  his  tracks,  he  repaired  to 
the  restaurant  in  the  same  building  with  the 
vast  waiting  room  and  offices.  The  place  was 
clean,  and  full  of  odors  that,  for  a  wonder,  were 
fresh  and  savory,  instead  of  hanging  on  the  air 
and  clinging  to  the  walls  like  a  viewless  "In 
Memoriam"  of  an  innumerable  caravan  of  dead- 
and-gone  feasts.  The  menu  was  promising  to  an 
unsated  appetite,  and  having  given  his  order  to 
a  waiter  the  even-tempered  customer  sat  back  in 
his  chair  and  surveyed  the  scene  with  the  air  of 
one  whose  mind  was,  as  the  hymnist  aptly  puts 
it,  "at  leisure  from  itself." 

This  lack  of  self-consciousness  underlay  much 
that  made  March  Gilchrist  popular  in  his  set. 


4  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

He  was  a  clever  artist,  and  wrought  hard  and 
well  at  his  profession,  although  he  had  a  rich 
father.  His  position  in  society  was  assured,  his 
physique  fine,  and  education  excellent — advan- 
tages fully  appreciated  by  most  of  the  men,  and 
all  the  women  he  knew.  If  he  recognized  their 
value  he  was  an  adroit  dissembler.  Simple  and 
frank  in  manner,  he  met  his  world  with  out- 
stretched hand.  When  the  hand  was  not  taken 
he  laughed  in  good-humored  astonishment,  went 
about  his  business,  and  forgot  the  churl.  His 
schoolmates  used  to  say  that  it  did  not  pay  to 
quarrel  with  him;  his  parents,  that  he  and  his 
sister  May  should  exchange  names.  That  his 
amiability  was  not  the  result  of  a  phlegmatic 
temperament  was  apparent  in  the  quick  bright- 
ness of  the  eyes  that  roved  about  the  dining 
room,  leaving  out  nothing — from  the  lunch 
counter  in  the  adjoining  room,  set  with  long 
ranks  of  salvers  with  globular  glass  covers  that 
gave  the  array  the  expression  of  a  chemist's 
laboratory,  to  the  whirligig  fans  that  revolved 
just  below  the  ceiling  with  the  dual  mission  of 
cooling  the  atmosphere  and  chasing  away  flies. 
Our  returned  traveler  seemed  to  find  these 
harbingers  of  summer  weather  and  summer  pests 
amusing.  He  was  watching  them  when  a  voice 
behind  him  accosted  a  hurrying  waiter. 

"There  is  a  young  girl  over  there  who  cannot 
walk.     Will   you  lift  her  out  of  her  chair   and 


MR.     WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SfSTER.  5 

bring  her  in?  It  is  just  at  the  door,  and  she  is 
very  light." 

"Busy  now,  miss!  Better  ask  somebody 
else !"  pushing  past. 

The  baffled  applicant  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  irresolute,  seeming  the  more  solitary 
and  helpless  because  young  and  a  woman.  Thus 
much,  and  not  that  she  was  comely  and  a  lady, 
March  saw  before  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  faced 
her  respectfully. 

"I  beg  pardon!  but  can  I  be  of  use?  It  will 
give  me  pleasure  if  you  will  allow  me."  Catching 
sight  in  the  doorway  of  the  one  in  whose  behalf 
she  had  spoken,  an  arch  smile — respectful  still — 
lighted  up  his  honest  countenance.  "If  you  will 
let  me  make  amends  for  my  awkwardness  of  a 
while  ago !" 

He  was  a  society  man,  and  might  have  been 
aware  how  unconventional  was  the  offer.  He 
palliated  the  solecism,  in  describing  the  incident  at 
home,  by  saying  that  he  saw  in  every  elderly 
woman  his  mother,  in  a  young  one,  his  only 
sister. 

"Thank  you  !  if  you  will  be  so  kind" — accepting 
the  proposal  as  simply  as  it  had  been  made.  "I 
could  bring  her  in  myself,  but  she  does  not  like 
to  have  me  do  it  here." 

"I  should  think  not,  indeed !  One  of  the  best 
uses  to  which  a  man's  muscles  can  be  put  is  to 
help  the  weak,"  rejoined  March  heartily. 


6  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

A  gleam  crossed  the  unchildish  visage  of  the 
cripple  when  he  stooped  to  lift  her.  She  recog- 
nized him,  but  offered  no  verbal  remark  then,  or 
when  he  deposited  the  light  burden  in  the  chair 
set  for  her  by  a  waiter  more  humane,  or  less 
driven  than  his  testy  comrade. 

"You  are  very  good,  and  we  are  much  obliged 
to  you,"  the  guardian  said,  with  a  little  bow  of 
acknowledgment  which  he  took  as  dismissal  also, 
withdrawing  to  his  own  place. 

"Set  the  table  for  seven,  please,"  he  heard  her 
continue  to  the  waiter,  businesslike  and  quiet, 
"and  reserve  another  seat  at  that  table" — desig- 
nating one  remote  from  the  larger — "for  a  gentle- 
man who  will  come  in  by  and  by.  There  is  a 
man,  too,  for  whom  I  wish  to  order  luncheon  at 
the  counter  in  that  room.  He  *can  get  a  good 
meal  and  be  comfortable  there,  I  suppose?" 

"A  traveling  party  of  nine!"  thought  March, 
apparently  intent  upon  the  depths  of  his  soup 
tureen.  "With  this  girl  as  courier.  Yet  she 
mentioned  two  men !" 

The  family  filed  in  while  he  speculated.  Twin 
boys  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  dressed  exactly  alike 
in  gray  jackets  and  knickerbcokers,  except  that 
the  red-haired  one  wore  a  blue  necktie  and  the 
brown-haired  a  scarlet ;  a  pretty,  blue-eyed  girl  of 
eight,  and  a  toddler  of  two,  led  by  a  sweet-faced 
mother,  with  fair  hair  and  faintly  tinted  com- 
plexion, of  the  china  shepherdess  school.  The 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  ^ 

"courier,"  assisted  by  the  waiter,  seated  them  all 
without  bustle,  before  addressing  an  individual 
who  had  followed  at  a  respectful  distance  and 
now  hung  aloof,  chewing  the  brim  of  a  brand-new 
straw  hat. 

"Homer!"  said  the  young  lady  gently  and  dis- 
tinctly, as  she  might  direct  a  child,  "you  will  get 
your  dinner  in  the  next  room.  Come!" 

By  shifting  his  position  slightly,  March  could 
see  her  point  the  man  to  a  stool  and  give  orders 
for  his  refreshment.  He  was  undersized,  lean, 
and  sandy  haired,  small  of  feature  and  loutish  in 
carriage.  His  eyes  had  red  rims,  and  blinked 
incessantly,  as  if  excessively  weak  or  purblind. 
When  he  began  operations  upon  coffee  and  sand- 
wiches, he  gobbled  voraciously,  gnawing  off 
mouthfuls  like  a  greedy  dog.  His  clothes  were  so 
distressingly  ready-made,  and  accentuated  hisun- 
couthness  so  unmercifully,  as  to  leave  no  doubt 
that  the  wearing  of  coat  and  vest  was  a  novelty 
and  an  equivocal  boon. 

"An  odd  fish !"  commented  March  mentally. 
"Why  should  a  civilized  family  haul  him  after 
them  like  a  badly  made  kite  tail?  And  they  are 
not  vulgarians,  either!" 

His  eyes  strayed  discreetly  back  to  the  table 
set  for  seven.  The  mistress  of  ceremonies  sat  at 
the  head,  and  was  studying  the  printed  menu.  It 
lay  flat  on  the  cloth  that  the  crippled  girl  at  her 
right  might  read  it  with  her.  Their  heads  were 


8  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

close  together,  and  the  gravity  upon  the  counte- 
nance of  the  elder  was  reflected  by  the  shrewd 
elfin  face.  Presently  they  began  to  whisper,  the 
bare,  thin  finger  of  the  younger  of  the  two  trac- 
ing the  lines  to  the  extreme  right  of  the  carte. 
It  was  plainly  a  question  of  comparative  expense, 
March  perceived  with  a  pang  of  his  kind  heart. 
For  he  had  been  a  boy  himself,  and  the  children 
were  hungry. 

"Hurry  up — won't  you,  Hetty,"  called  the  red- 
headed twin  impatiently.  "Give  us  the  first 
thing  you  come  to  so  long  as  it  isn't  corned  beef, 
pork  and  beans,  or  rice  pudding.  I'm  starved !  " 

"Me,  too!"  echoed  his  fellow. 

"You  needn't  make  mincemeat  of  your  English 
on  that  account !"  piped  the  crippled  sister  tartly. 
"It  is  no  little  matter  to  order  just  the  right 
things  for  such  a  host.  Mamma,  you  must  have 
a  cup  of  tea,  I  suppose?" 

The  young  lady  interposed,  writing  while  she 
talked : 

"Of  course!  And  all  of  us  will  be  the  better 
for  some  good,  hot  soup.  This  is  luncheon,  not 
dinner,  recollect.  We  only  need  something  to 
stay  our  appetites  until  six  o'clock,"  she  added, 
putting  the  paper  in  the  waiter's  hand. 

She  did  not  look  like  one  who  did  things  for 
effect,  yet  there  was  meaning  in  her  manner  of 
saying  it.  If  she  was  obliged  to  cut  her  coat 
according  to  her  cloth,  she  would  just  now  make 


MR.    WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  9 

the  scantiness  of  the  pattern  seem  a  matter  of 
choice  and  carry  out  the  seeming  gallantly. 

"How  much  further  have  we  to  go?"  queried 
eight-year-old,  somewhat  ruefully. 

Six  o'clock  was  to  her  apprehension  a  long  time 
ahead. 

"We  are  within  half  an  hour  of  home.  We 
might  have  been  there  by  now,  but  we  thought  it 
better  to  wait  over  a  train  to  rest  and  get  rid  of 
the  dust  we  brought  off  the  cars." 

"And  to  let  him  get  shaved  and  barbered  and 
prinked  up  generally !"  shrilled  the  cripple  malevo- 
lently. 

"Hester!"  The  mother's  voice  was  heard  for 
the  first  time. 

"Well,  mamma?" 

"That  is  not  respectful,  my  love.  You  are 
tired,  I  am  afraid." 

The  shrewd  face  jerked  fretfully,  and  the  lips 
were  opened  for  a  retort,  checked  by  a  gloved 
hand  laid  upon  the  forward  child's.  There  was 
only  a  murmur,  accompanied  by  a  pettish  shrug. 

March  was  ashamed  of  the  impulse  that  made 
him  steal  a  look  at  the  tray  bearing  the  result  of 
the  whispered  consultation.  Three  tureens,  each 
containing  two  generous  portions  of  excellent 
English  gravy  soup  with  barley  in  it,  a  pot  of 
tea,  bread  and  milk  for  the  baby  and  plenty  of 
bread  and  butter  were  duly  deposited  upon  the 
board. 


10  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SSS7'EX. 

"I'll  take  the  rest  of  your  order  now,"  said  the 
waiter,  civilly  suggestive. 

"This  is  all.  Thank  you  !"  in  a  matter-of-course 
tone  that  was  not  resentfully  positive. 

The  "courier"  understood  herself,  and  having 
taken  ground,  how  to  hold  it.  This  was  lunch- 
eon. March  caught  himself  speculating  as  to  the 
dinner  bill  of  fare. 

The  spokeswoman  may  have  been  two-and- 
twenty.  She  was  slightly  above  the  middle 
height  of  healthy  womanhood,  had  gray,  serious 
eyes,  with  brown  shadows  in  them  when  the  lids 
drooped;  well-formed  lips  that  curled  roguishly 
at  the  corners  in  smiling ;  a  straight  nose  with 
mobile  nostrils,  and  a  firm  chin.  There  was  char- 
acter in  plenty  in  the  face.  Such  free  air  and 
sunshine  as  falls  into  most  girls'  lives  might  have 
made  it  beautiful.  The  pose  of  her  head,  the 
habitual  gravity  of  eyes  and  mouth,  the  very  car- 
riage of  the  shoulders  and  her  gait  testified  to  the 
untimely  sense  of  responsibility  borne  by  this 
one.  She  was  slight  and  straight ;  her  gown  of 
fawn-colored  cloth  fitted  well,  and  a  toque  of  the 
same  material  with  no  trimming,  except  a  knot  of 
velvet  ribbon,  was  becoming;  yet  March,  who  de- 
signed his  sister's  costumes,  was  quite  certain  that 
gown  and  hat  were  homemade  and  the  product  of 
the  wearer's  skill.  Both  women  were  unmistakably 
gentle  in  breeding,  and  the  children's  chatter,  al- 
though sometimes  pert,  was  not  rude  or  boisterous. 


MR.     WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTEX.  I  r 

A  man  entered  by  the  side  door  while  the  chat- 
ter was  stilling  under  the  supreme  attraction  of 
the  savory  luncheon,  and,  after  a  word  to  a  waiter, 
took  the  chair  which  had  been  tilted,  face  down- 
ward, against  the  far  table  at  the  "courier's" 
order.  He  was  tall,  and  had  an  aquiline,  intel- 
lectual cast  of  countenance.  His  hands — the 
artist  had  an  appreciative  eye  for  hands  and  fin- 
gers— were  a  student's ;  his  linen  was  irreproacha- 
ble; his  chin  and  cheeks  were  blue-shaven,  and 
his  black  hair  was  cut  straight  across  at  the  back, 
just  clearing  the  collar  of  his  coat,  instead  of 
being  shingled. 

"A  clergyman!"  deduced  Crilchrist,  from  the 
latter  peculiarity.  "That — not  the  white  choker — 
is  the  trade-mark  of  the  profession.  Did  barber 
or  preacher  establish  the  fashion?" 

After  inspection  of  the  menu,  the  newcomer 
ordered  a  repast  which  was  sumptuous  when  com- 
pared with  the  frugal  one  course  of  the  seven 
seated  at  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
He  took  no  notice  of  them  nor  they  of  him.  His 
mien  was  studiously  abstracted.  While  waiting 
for  his  food  he  drew  a  small  blotting  pad  from  his 
pocket  and  wrote  upon  it  with  a  stylographic  pen, 
his  profile  keener  as  his  work  went  on.  In  paus- 
ing to  collect  thoughts  or  choose  words  the  incli- 
nation of  his  eyes  was  upward.  After  his  entrance 
profound  silence  settled  upon  the  central  table. 
Not  even  the  baby  prattled.  This  singular  taci- 


12  MR.     IVAYT'S    WIFE'S   SfSTER. 

turnity  took  on  significance  to  the  alert  wits  of 
the  unsuspected  observer  when  he  saw  a  swift 
interchange  of  looks  between  the  cripple  and  her 
left-hand  neighbor,  attended  by  a  grimace  of  such 
bitter  disdain  directed  by  the  junior  of  the  pair 
at  the  student  as  fairly  startled  the  artist. 

The  unconscious  object  of  the  shaft  put  up 
paper  and  pen,  and  addressed  himself  with  deliber- 
ate dignity,  upon  the  arrival  of  his  raw  oysters,  to 
the  lower  task  of  filling  the  material  part  of  him. 
He  was  discussing  a  juicy  square  of  porterhouse 
steak,  as  March  bowed  respectfully  on  his  way 
out  to  the  girl  at  the  head  of  the  board,  a  smile 
in  his  pleasant  eyes  being  especially  intended  for 
the  dwarfed  cripple  beside  her. 

Homer  had  bolted  the  last  fragment  of  a  huge 
segment  of  custard  pie,  washed  down  the  crust 
with  a  second  jorum  of  coffee,  and  sat,  satiate 
and  sheepish,  upon  the  tall  stool,  awaiting  orders. 

"The  most  extraordinary  combinery,  taken  in 
all  its  parts,  it  was  ever  my  luck  to  behold,"  de- 
clared March  Gilchrist  at  his  father's  dinner  table 
that  evening.  "Intensely  American  throughout, 
though.  I  wish  I  knew  whether  or  not  the  man 
who  appropriated  the  reserved  seat  was  a  usurper. 
If  he  were,  that  spirited  little  economist  of  a 
courier  was  quite  capable  of  dispossessing  him,  or, 
at  least,  of  calling  the  waiter  to  account  for  neg- 
lect of  duty.  And  what  relation  did  blind  Homer 
bear  to  the  party?" 


MK.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  13 

"Dear  old  March  !"  said  his  sister  affectionately. 
"Story  weaving  in  the  old  fashion !  How 
natural  it  sounds!  What  jolly  times  you  and  I 
have  had  over  our  amateur  romances  and  make 
believes!  Which  reminds  me  of  a  remarkable 
sermon  preached  Sunday  before  last  by  our  new 
pastor.  (I  told  you  we  had  one,  didn't  I?)  The 
text  was:  'Six  waterpots  of  stone,  containing  two 
or  three  firkins  apiece !'  " 

"Absurd !" 

"True;  but  listen!  The  text  was  only  a  hook 
from  which  he  hung  an  eloquent  discourse  upon 
the  power  of  faith  to  make  wine — 'old  and  mel- 
low and  flavorous,'  he  called  it — out  of  what  to 
grosser  souls  seems  insipid  water.  It  was  a  plea 
for  the  pleasures  of  imagination — alias  faith — and 
elevated  our  favorite  amusement  into  a  fine  art, 
and  the  fine  art  into  religion.  I  came  home  feel- 
ing like  a  spiritual  chameleon,  fully  convinced  that 
rarefied  air  is  the  rightful  sustenance  of  an  immor- 
tal being.  According  to  our  Mr.  Wayt,  what  you 
haven't  got  is  the  only  Ihing  you  ought  to  be  sure 
of.  Life  is  a  sort  of 'Now  you  see  it  and  now 
you  don't  see  it'  business  throughout.  Only, 
when  you  don't  see  it  you  are  richer  and  happier 
than  when  you  do.  Did  you  ever  think  to  hear 
me  babble  metaphysics?  Now,  where  are  those 
portfolios?" 

"Make  believe  that  you  have  overhauled  them, 
and  be  blest,"  retorted  her  brother.  "There's  a 


14  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SfSTER. 

chance  to  practice  your  metaphysical  cant — with 
a  new,  deep  meaning  in  it,  too,  which  you  will 
detect  when  you  inspect  my  daubs.  I  did  some 
fairish  things  in  Norway,  however,  which  may 
prove  that  your  rule  has  an  exception." 

The  Gilchrists  freely  acknowledged  themselves 
to  be  what  the  son  and  daughter  styled  "a  mutual 
admiration  square."  March's  portfolios  were  not 
the  only  engrossing  subject  that  drew  them  to- 
gether in  the  library,  where  coffee  and  cigars  were 
served. 

May  and  her  father  turned  over  sketches  and 
examined  finished  pictures  at  the  table,  passing 
them  afterward  to  the  mother,  who  was  a  fixture 
in  her  easy-chair  by  reason-  of  a  head,  covered 
with  crisp  chestnut  curls,  lying  upon  her  lap. 
May  was  her  companion  and  co-laborer,  dutiful 
and  beloved,  despite  the  impetuosity  of  mood 
and  temper  which  seemed  inharmonious  with  the 
calmer  nature  of  the  matron.  The  mother's  idol 
was  the  long-limbed  fellow  who,  stretched  upon 
the  tiger-skin  rug,  one  awn  cast  about  her  waist, 
submitted  to  her  mute  fondling  with  grace  as 
cheerful  as  that  with  which  she  endured  the  scent 
of  the  cigar  she  would  not  let  him  resign  when  he 
threw  himself  into  his  accustomed  place.  She 
was  a  good  wife,  but  she  never  pretended  to  like 
the  odor  of  the  judge's  best  weed.  March's 
cigars,  she  confessed,  were  "really  delightful." 
Perhaps  she  recognized  in  his  affluent,  joyous 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER.  15 

nature  something  hers  lacked  and  had  craved 
all  her  life ;  the  golden  side  of  the  iron  shield. 
Assuredly,  her  children  drew  the  ideality  in  which 
they  reveled  from  the  father. 

The  tall,  dignified  woman  who  queened  it  in 
the  best  circles  of  Fairhill  society,  and  was  the 
chiefest  pillar  in  the  parish  which  had  just  called 
Mr.  Wayt  to  become  its  spiritual  head,  was  the 
embodiment  of  what  is  known  as  hard  sense. 
Mind  and  character  were  laid  out  and  down  in 
straight  lines.  Right  was  right ;  duty  was  duty, 
and  not  to  be  shirked.  Wrong  was  wrong,  and 
the  shading  off  of  sin  into  foible  was  of  the  devil. 
She  believed  in  a  personal  devil,  comprehended 
the  doctrines  of  the  Trinity,  of  election  and  repro- 
bation, and  the  resurrection  of  the  physical  body. 
Twice  each  Sabbath,  once  during  the  week,  she 
repaired  to  the  courts  of  the  Lord  with  joys  un- 
known to  worldly  souls.  The  ministry  she  held 
in  the  old-fashioned  veneration  we  have  cast  be- 
hind us  with  many  worse  and  a  few  better  things. 
Others  might  and  did  criticise  the  men  who  wore 
white  nectkies  upon  weekdays  and  had  their  hair 
cut  straight  behind.  The  hands  of  the  presbytery 
had  been  laid  in  ordination  upon  them.  That 
was  a  sacred  shield  to  her.  In  spirit  she  ap- 
proached the  awful  circle  of  the  church  with 
bared  feet  and  bent  brow.  Within  it  was  her 
home.  To  her  church  her  toils  were  literally 
given.  For  it  her  prayers  continually  ascended. 


1 6  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER. 

She  had  looked  grave  during  May's  flippant 
abstract  of  the  new  preacher's  discourse  anent  the 
six  stone  waterpots.  Her  family  might  suspect 
that  she  could  not  easily  assimilate  spiritual  bread 
so  unlike  that  broken  to  his  flock  by  a  good  man 
who  had  been  gathered  to  his  fathers  six  months 
before,  after  a  pastorate  of  thirty  years  in  Fair- 
hill.  Nobody  could  elicit  a  hint  to  this  effect 
from  her  lips.  Mr.  Wayt  was  the  choice  of  a 
respectable  majority  of  church  and  parish.  The 
presbytery  had  accepted  his  credentials  and  sol- 
emnly installed  him  in  his  new  place.  Hence- 
forward he  was  her  pastor,  and  as  such  above 
the  touch  of  censure.  He  had  been  the  guest  of 
the  Gilchrists  for  a  week  prior  to  the  removal  of 
his  family  to  the  flourishing  suburban  town,  and 
received  such  entertainment  for  body  and  spirit 
as  strengthened  his  belief  in  the  Divine  authority 
of  the  call  he  had  answered. 

He  left  Fairhill  four  days  before  March  landed 
in  New  York,  to  meet  his  wife  and  children  in 
Syracuse  and  escort  them  to  their  new  abiding 
place.  During  these  days  the  mothers  and  daugh- 
ters of  the  household  of  faith  had  worked  dili- 
gently to  prepare  the  parsonage  for  the  reception 
of  the  travelers,  Mrs.  Gilchrist  being  the  guiding 
spirit.  And  while  she  drew  the  shining  silk  of 
her  boy's  curls  through  fingers  that  looked  strong, 
yet  touched  tenderly,  the  Rev.  Percy  Wayt, 
A.  M.  and  M.  A.,  with  feet  directed  by  gratitude 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  I? 

and  heart  swollen  with  pastoral  affection,  was  near- 
ing  the  domicile  of  his  best  "member." 

A  long  French  window  upon  the  piazza  framed 
the  tableau  he  halted  to  survey,  his  foot  upon  the 
upper  step  of  the  broad  flight  leading  from  the 
lawn.  It  was  a  noble  room,  planned  by  March 
and  built  with  his  proud  father's  money.  Breast- 
high  shelves  filled  with  choice  books  lined  the 
wall ;  above  them  were  a  few  fine  pictures. 
Oriental  rugs  were  strewed  upon  the  polished 
floor;  lounging  and  upright  chairs  stood  about  in 
social  attitudes.  The  light  of  the  shaded  read- 
ing lamp  shone  silvery  upon  Judge  Gilchrist's 
head  and  heightened  the  brightness  of  May's 
face.  March's  happy  gaze,  upturned  to  meet  his 
mother's  look  of  full  content,  might  have  meant 
as  much  in  a  cottage  as  here,  but  they  seemed  to 
the  spectator  accessories  of  the  luxurious  well- 
being  which  stamped  the  environment. 

He  sighed  deeply — perhaps  at  the  contrast  the 
scene  offered  to  the  half  furnished  abode  he  had 
just  left — perhaps  under  the  weight  of  memories 
aroused  by  the  family  group.  He  was  as  capable 
of  appreciating  beauty  and  enjoying  ease  as  were 
those  who  took  these  as  an  installment  of  the 
debt  the  world  owed  them.  The  will  of  the  holy 
man  who  preaches  the  great  gain  of  godliness 
when  wedded  to  contentment,  ought  to  be  one 
with  that  of  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth.  Some- 
times it  is.  Sometimes 


1 8  MX.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTEX. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Wayt !"  Judge  Gilchrist's  proverb- 
ially gracious  manner  was  never  more  urbane 
than  as  he  offered  a  welcoming  hand  to  his  wife's 
spiritual  director.  "You  find  us  in  the  full  flood 
of  rejoicing  over  our  returned  prodigal,"  he  con- 
tinued, when  the  visitor  had  saluted  the  ladies. 
"Let  me  introduce  my  son." 

Mr.  Wayt  was  "honored  and  happy  at  being 
allowed  to  participate  in  the  reunion,"  yet  apolo- 
getic for  his  "intrusion  upon  that  with  which 
strangers  should  not  intermeddle." 

While  saying  it  he  squeezed  March's  hand  in 
a  grasp  more  nervous  than  firm,  and  looked  ad- 
miringly into  the  sunny  eyes. 

"Your  mother's  son  will  forgive  the  interrup- 
tion when  he  learns  why  I  am  here,"  he  went  on, 
tightening  and  relaxing  his  hold  at  alternate 
periods.  "I  brought  my  wife  and  babies  home  to- 
day. I  use  the  word  advisedly.  I  left  a  desolate, 
empty  house.  Merely  walls,  ceilings,  doors,  win- 
dows, and  floors.  A  shell  without  sentiment.  A 
chrysalis  without  the  germ  of  life-.  This  was  on 
last  Monday  morning." 

By  now  the  brief  sentences  had  come  to  imply 
depth  of  emotion  with  which  March  was  unable 
to  sympathize,  and  he  felt  convicted  of  inhumanity 
that  this  was  so. 

"I  advised  Mrs.  Wayt  of  what  she  would  find. 
Hers  is  a  brave  spirit  encased  in  a  fragile  frame, 
and  she  was  not  daunted.  You,  madam,"  letting 


MR.     WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  19 

go  the  son's  hand  and  facing  the  mother,  "know, 
and  we  can  never  forget  what  we  found  when, 
weary  and  faint  and  travel-stained,  we  alighted 
this  afternoon  at  the  parsonage  gate." 

With  all  her  native  aplomb  and  half-century  of 
world  knowledge  Mrs.  Gilchrist  blushed,  much  to 
the  covert  amusement  of  husband  and  son.  If 
the  judge  had  manner  Mr.  Wayt  had  deport- 
ment, and  with  it  fluency.  His  weighty  words 
pressed  her  hard  for  breath. 

"Please  don't  speak  of  it!"  she  hastened  to 
implore.  "  We  did  very  little — and  I  no  more 
than  others." 

"Allow  me !"  Gesture  and  tone  were  rhetorical. 
"You — or  others  under  your  command — laid  car- 
pets and  set  our  humble  plenishing  in  order. 
There  is  not  much  of  it,  but  such  as  it  is,  it  has 
followed  our  varied  fortunes  so  long  that  it  is 
endeared  by  association.  You  arranged  it  to  the 
best  advantage.  You  stocked  larders  and  made 
up  beds,  and  kindled  the  fire  upon  the  household 
altar,  typified  by  the  kitchen  range,  and  spread  a 
toothsome  feast  for  our  refreshment.  You  and 
your  sister  angels.  If  this  be  not  true,  then 
benevolent  pixies  have  been  at  work,  for,  although 
we  found  the  premises  swept  and  garnished,  not 
a  creature  was  to  be  seen.  Generosity  and  tact 
had  met  together;  beneficence  and  modesty  had 
kissed  each  other.  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Gilchrist" — 
wheeling  back  in  good  order  upon  March — "that  in 


20  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

seventeen  years  of  the  vicissitudes  of  a  pastoral  life 
that  has  had  its  high  lights  and  depressing  shades, 
such  delicacy  of  kindness  is  without  a  parallel." 

"Let  me  express  my  sympathy  in  the  shape  of 
a  cigar,"  said  March,  taking  one  from  the  table. 
"I  brought  over  a  lot,  which  my  father,  who  is  a 
connoisseur  in  tobacco,  pronounces  fit  to  smoke. 
Should  you  agree  with  him,  I  shall  esteem  it  a 
compliment  if  you  will  let  me  send  a  box  to  the 
parsonage  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Wayt's  was  an  opaque  and  not  a  healthy 
complexion.  It  was  mottled  now  with  a  curious, 
dull  glow;  the  muscles  of  his  mouth  twitched. 
He  waved  aside  the  offering  with  more  energy 
than  courtesy. 

"You  are  good,  sir — very  good!  But  I  never 
smoke!  My  nervous  system  is  idiosyncratic. 
Common  prudence  inhibits  the  use  on  my  part  of 
all  narcotics  and  stimulants,  if  principle  did  not. 
To  be  frank" — inclusively  to  all  present— "I  am 
what  is  known  as  'a  temperance  crank.'  You 
may  think  the  less  of  me  for  the  confession ;  in 
point  of  fact,  I  lost  one  charge  in  direct  conse- 
quence of  my  peculiar  views  upon  this  subject ; 
but  if  I  speak  at  all,  I  must  be  candid.  Believe 
me  nevertheless,  Mr.  Gilchrist,  your  grateful 
debtor  for  the  proffered  gift.  If  you  will  now 
and  then  let  a  kindly  thought  of  me  mingle  with 
the  smoke  of  your  burnt  offering,  the  favor  will 
be  still  greater." 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  21 

"May  I  trouble  you  to  say  to  Mrs.  VVayt  that 
the  cook  you  asked  me  to  engage  for  her  cannot 
come  until  next  Monday  morning?"  said  the 
practical  hostess.  Mr.  Wayt's  sonorous  periods 
always  impelled  her  to  monosyllabic  common- 
places. "Perhaps  she  cannot  wait  so  long?" 

"I  take  the  responsibility  of  promising  for  her, 
madam,  that  she  will.  Apart  from  the  fact  that 
her  desire  to  secure  a  servant  recommended  by 
yourself  would-  reconcile  her  to  a  still  longer 
delay,  her  household,  as  at  present  composed,  has 
in  itself  the  elements  of  independence.  We  have 
a  faithful,  if  eccentric,  servitor,  who  has  an  abnor- 
mal passion  for  work  in  all  its  varieties.  He  is 
gardener,  house  servant,  cook,  groom,  mason  and 
builder,  as  need  requires.  He  mends  his  own 
clothes,  cobbles  his  shoes — and  I  am  not  without 
a  suspicion  of  his  proficiency  as  a  laundryman." 

He  rendered  the  catalogue  with  relish  for  the 
humor  of  the  situation.  The  exigencies  of  par- 
sonage life  which  had  developed  the  talents  of  his 
trusty  retainer  seemed  to  have  no  pathos  for  the 
master. 

"Where  did  you  find  this  treasure?  And  is  he 
a  Unique?"  asked  May  laughingly. 

"I  believe  the  credit  of  raking  the  protoplasmic 
germ  out  of  the  slums  of  Chicago,  where  we  were 
then  sojourning,  belongs  to  my  wife's  sister,  Miss 
Ailing.  The  atmosphere  of  our  home  has  warmed 
into  growth  latent  possibilities,  I  fancy.  It  was 


22  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  STSTER. 

a  white  day  for  poor  Tony  when  the  gutter-wash 
landed  him  at  our  door.  Even  now  he  has  physi- 
cal weaknesses  and  mental  deficiencies  that  make 
him  a  striking  object-lesson  as  to  the  terrible 
truths  of  heredity." 

"How  many  children  have  you,  Mr.  Wayt?" 
questioned  March,  with  irrelevance  verging  upon 
abruptness. 

"George  W.  Cable's  number — five.  You  may 
recall  the  witty  puzzle  he  set  for  a  Massachusetts 
Sunday  School.  'I  have  five  children,'  he  said, 
'and  half  of  them  are  girls.  What  is  the  half  of 
five?'  'Two  and  a  half/  came  from  the  perplexed 
listeners.  It  transpired,  eventually,  that  the 
other  half  were  girls  also." 

He  was  an  entertaining  man,  or  would  have 
been  had  he  been  colloquial  instead  of  hortatory. 
Yet  what  he  said  was  telling  rather  from  the 
degree  of  importance  he  evidently  attached  to  it 
than  from  the  worth  of  the  matter.  In  a  smaller 
speaker,  his  style  would  have  been  airy.  Stand- 
ing, as  he  did,  six  feet  in  his  slippers,  he  was 
always  nearly  —  occasionally,  quite  —  imposing. 
Men  of  his  profession  seldom  converse  well.  The 
habit  of  hebdomadal  speech-making  runs  over  and 
saturates  the  six  working  days.  Pastoral  visita- 
tion is  undoubtedly  measurably  responsible  for 
the  trick  of  talking  as  for  duty's  sake,  and  to 
a  roomful.  The  essential  need  of  the  public 
speaker  is  audience,  and  to  this,  actual  or  vision- 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SfSTEK.  23 

ary,  he  is  prone  to  address  himself.  Mr.  Wayt 
could  not  bid  an  acquaintance  "Good-morning," 
in  a  chance  encounter  upon  boat  or  car,  without 
embracing  every  passenger  within  the  scope  of 
his  orotund  tones,  in  the  salutation.  A  poseur 
during  his  waking  hours,  he  probably  continued 
to  cater  to  the  ubiquitous  audience  in  his  dreams. 

"Come  out  for  a  turn  on  the  piazza,  May !"  pro- 
posed March,  after  the  guest  had  taken  his  leave. 

The  night  was  filled  with  divine  calm.  The 
Gilchrist  house  surmounted  a  knoll  from  which 
the  beautiful  town  rolled  away  on  all  sides.  In 
the  distance  a  glistening  line  showed  where  the 
bay  divided  Jersey  meadows  from  the  ramparts  of 
the  Highlands.  The  turf  of  the  lawn  was  ringed 
and  crossed  by  beds  of  hyacinths  and  tulips. 
The  buds  of  the  great  horse-chestnut  trees  were 
big  with  promise;  the  finer  tracery  of  the  elms 
against  the  moonlit  sky  showed  tufts  of  tender 
foliage.  Faint,  delicious  breaths  of  sweetness 
met  brother  and  sister  at  the  upper  end  of  their 
walk,  telling  that  the  fruit  trees  were  ablow. 

"East  or  West,  Hame  is  Best !  " 

quoted  March,  taking  in  a  mighty  draught  of 
satisfaction.  "Not  that  I  brought  you  out  here 
to  listen  to  stale  Scotch  rhymes.  Don't  annoy  the 
precious  mother  by  letting  her  into  the  secret, 
May,  but  Mr.  Wayt  is  the  man  I  saw  in  the  rest- 
aurant to-day,  and  I  believe  that  was  his  family!" 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  almost  unearthly  stillness  of  the  fragrant 
May  night  was,  as  often  happens  at  that  lovely, 
uncertain  season,  the  precursor  of  a  rainy  day. 

Hetty  Ailing,  awakening  at  four  o'clock  to  plan 
for  the  work  that  lay  before  the  transplanted 
household,  heard  the  first  drops  fall  upon  the 
tin  roof  of  the  piazza  under  her  window  like  the 
patter  of  tiny,  stealthy  feet  scaling  the  eaves  and 
combing,  then  advancing  boldly  in  rank  and  rush 
until  the  beat  was  the  reverberant  roar  of  a  spring 
flood. 

It  awoke  nobody  else  under  the  parsonage  roof- 
tree.  Hester  slept  soundly  beside  her.  She 
never  slept  quietly.  In  addition  to  the  spinal  dis- 
ease which  warped  the  poor  girl's  figure  she  suf- 
fered from  an  affection  of  the  throat  that  made 
her  respiration  in  slumber  a  rattling  snore,  inter- 
rupted at  regular  intervals  by  a  gurgle  that 
sounded  like  strangulation.  So  audibly  distress- 
ing was  it  that  her  father  could  not  sleep  within 
two  rooms  of  her,  and  the  healthy  occupants  of 
the  intervening  nursery  complained  that  "nothing 
was  done  to  break  Hester  of  making  such  a 
racket.  If  she  wanted  to  stop  it  she  could." 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  25 

Her  young  aunt  and  roommate  knew  better. 
Hester  had  shared  her  bed  for  almost  nine  years. 
Mrs.  Wayt's  orphaned  sister  was  but  fourteen 
when  she  came  to  live  in  the  parsonage,  then 
situated  in  Cincinnati.  It  had  been  a  hard  winter 
with  the  pastor's  wife.  While  her  mother  lay 
dying  in  Ithaca,  N.  Y.,  her  then  only  daughter,  the 
first  born  of  her  flock,  a  beautiful,  vivacious  child 
of  eight,  met  with  the  accident  which  crippled 
and  dwarfed  her  for  life.  The  telegram  announc- 
ing Mrs.  Alling's  illness  was  answered-  by  one 
saying  that  Hester  was  at  the  point  of  death. 
She  had  just  passed  the  first  doubtful  stage  upon 
the  return  journey  lifeward,  when  Hetty,  in  her 
new  black  frock,  insisted  upon  relieving  the  grief- 
worn  watcher  over  the  wreck  that  could  never  be 
put  together  again. 

Lying  in  strange  quarters  in  a  strange  town  at 
the  dreariest  hour  of  the  twenty-four,  Hetty  re- 
called that  as  the  date  when  the  load  of  care,  now 
an  integral  part  of  herself,  was  first  fastened  upon 
her.  She  had  before  this  likened  it  to  a  needle 
she  had  once,  in  childish  wantonness,  run  under 
the  bark  of  a  young  willow,  and  seen  disappear 
gradually  from  view  as  the  riven  bark  grew  over 
it,  until,  at  the  end  of  a  year,  no  vestige  of  the 
steel  remained,  except  a  ridge  which  was  never 
smoothed  away.  She  was  not  exactly  penniless. 
The  portion  left  her  by  her  mother  was  judiciously 
invested  by  her  guardian,  and  yielded  her  exactly 


2 6  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SJSTEK. 

four  hundred  dollars  a  year.  It  was  transmitted 
promptly,  quarterly,  until  she  was  of  age,  by 
which  time  she  was  so  rooted  and  grounded  in 
prudence  that  she  continued  to  draw  the  like 
amount  at  equal  periods. 

"It  is  enough  to  dress  her,"  Mrs.  Wayt  had 
said  to  her  husband,  in  seeking  his  sanction  to 
her  offer  of  a  home  to  one  who  stood  alone  in  the 
world  save  for  her  sister,  and  an  uncle  who  had 
lived  in  Japan  for  twenty  years.  "And  she  is 
welcome  to  her  board — is  she  not,  Percy,  dear?" 

"Welcome,  dear  love?  Can  you  ask  the  ques- 
tion with  regard  to  your  only  sister — poor 
motherless  lamb!  While  we  have  a  roof  between 
us  and  the  sky  and  a  crust  of  bread  between  us 
and  starvation,  she  shall  share  both.  Let  me 
write  the  letter !" 

The  epistle  was  almost  tattered  with  many 
readings  when  Hetty  became  an  inmate  of  her 
brother-in-law's  home.  She  had  not  kept  it  until 
now.  That  was  not  strange,  Fairhill  being  the 
latest  in  a  succession  of  "settlements"  to  which 
the  brilliant  gospeler  had  accepted  calls,  generally 
unanimous  and  almost  invariably  enthusiastic. 
There  were  three  children  at  Hetty's  coming — 
her  own  and  her  mother's  namesake,  Hester,  and 
Percy  and  Perry,  the  twin  boys.  Four  had  been 
born  since,  but  two  had  not  outlived  early  infancy. 
Mr.  Wayt  would  not  have  been  a  preacher  of  the 
period  had  he  not  enriched  some  of  his  most 


MR.     WA  YT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER.  27 

effective  discourses  with  illustrations  drawn  from 
these  personal  bereavements. 

His  celebrated  apostrophe  to  a  six-months  old 
daughter,  beginning — "Dear  little  Susie!  She 
had  numbered  but  a  brief  half  year  of  mortal  life, 
but  she  was  loving  and  beloved !  I  seem  to  feel 
the  soft  strain  of  her  arms  about  my  neck  this 
moment" — is  too  familiar  to  my  readers,  through 
newspaper  reports,  to  need  repetition  here.  The 
sermon  embodying  this  gem  of  poetic  and  rhetori- 
cal emotion  is  known  to  have  won  him  calls  to 
three  churches. 

It  was  still  dark  when  Hetty's  ear  caught  the 
muffled  thud  of  feet  upon  the  garret  stairs. 
Wherever  providence  and  parish  preferences  cast 
the  lot  of  the  Wayts,  Homer's  bedroom  was 
nearest  the  heavens  that  were  hot  by  summer  and 
cold  by  winter. 

"I  don't  set  no  store  by  ceilin's,"  he  told  Hetty 
when  she  "wished  they  could  lodge  him  better." 
"Seems  if  'twas  naturaler  fur  to  see  the  beams 
purty  nigh  onto  my  nose  when  I  fus'  wake  in  the 
mornin'.  I'm  kind  o'  lonesome  fur  'em  when  I 
caan't  butt  me  head  agin  the  top  o'  me  room 
when  I'm  a  mind  ter." 

At  another  time  he  confided  to  her  that  it  was 
"reel  sociabul-like  to  hear  the  rain  onto  the  ruff, 
clus'  to  a  feller's  ears  o'  nights." 

He  was  on  his  way  down  to  the  kitchen  now  to 
light  the  fire.  Unless  she  should  interfere,  he 


28  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

would  cook  breakfast,  and  serve  it  upon  the  table 
she  had  set  overnight,  and  sweep  down  the  stairs 
and  scrub  the  front  doorsteps  while  the  family 
ate  the  morning  meal.  He  called  himself  "Tony," 
as  did  all  the  family  except  Hetty  and  Mrs. 
Wayt.  The  former  had  found  "Homer  Smith, 
Jr.,"  written  in  a  sprawling  hand  upon  the  flyleaf 
of  a  songbook  which  formed  the  waif's  entire 
library.  Hetty  had  notions  native  to  her  own 
small  head.  One  was  that  the — but  for  her — 
friendless  lad  would  respect  himself  the  more  if 
he  were  not  addressed  by  what  she  called  "a  cir- 
cus monkey's  name."  For  this  reason  he  was 
"Homer"  to  her,  and  her  sister  followed  her 
example  because  she  considered  the  factotum 
and  whatever  related  to  him  Hetty's  affair,  and 
that  she  had  a  right  to  designate  her  chattel  by 
whatever  title  she  pleased. 

Tony  had  come  to  the  basement  door  one 
snowy,  blowy  day  of  a  particularly  cruel  winter, 
when  Hetty  was  maid  of  all  work.  He  stood 
knee-deep  in  a  drift  when  she  opened  the  grated 
door  and  asked,  hoarsely  but  without  a  touch  of 
the  beggar's  whine,  for  "a  job  to  keep  him  from 
starvin'."  He  was,  as  he  "guessed,"  twenty 
years  of  age,  emaciated  from  a  spell  of  "new- 
money,"  and  so  nearly  blind  that  the  suggestion 
of  a  "job"  was  pitiably  preposterous.  Hetty  took 
him  into  her  neat  kitchen,  made  him  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  cut  and  plied  him  with  bread  and  butter  until 


MR.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER.  29 

he  asserted  that  he  was  "right-up-an'-down  chirpy, 
jes'  as  strong's  enny  man.  Couldn't  he  rake  out 
the  furnace,  or  saw  wood,  or  clear  off  the  snow, 
or  clean  shoes,  or  scrub  the  stairs,  or  mend  broken 
things,  or  wash  windows,  or  peel  pertaters,  or 
black  stoves,  or  sif  ashes,  or  red-up  the  cellar — 
or — or — somethin',  to  pay  for  his  dinner?  I  aint 
no  beggar,  ma'am — nor  never  will  be !" 

Hetty  hired  him  as  a  "general  utility  man,"  at 
ten  cents  a  forenoon  and  his  breakfast,  for  a 
week — then,  for  a  month.  He  lodged  wherever 
he  could — in  stable  lofts,  at  the  police  station, 
under  porches  on  mild  nights,  and  when  other 
resorts  were  closed,  in  a  midnight  refuge,  and 
never  touched  liquor  or  tobacco  in  any  form. 
At  the  month's  end,  his  girlish  patroness  cleared 
a  corner  of  the  attic  between  the  sharp  angle  and 
the  chimney,  set  up  a  cot,  and  allowed  him  to 
sleep  there.  Mr.  Wayt  had  no  suspicion  of  the 
disreputable  incumbent  of  the  habitation  honored 
by  his  name  and  residence,  until  one  memorable 
and  terrible  March  midnight  when  a  doctor  must 
be  had  without  the  delay  of  an  instant  revealed 
the  secret,  but  under  circumstances  that  strength- 
ened the  retainer's  hold  upon  his  employers. 
Since  then,  he  had  been  part  and  parcel  of  the 
establishment,  proving  himself  as  proficient  in 
removals  and  settlings-down  as  in  other  branches 
of  his  business. 

Mr.  Wayt  liked  to  allude  to  him  as  "Hetty's 


3°  MR.    WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

Freak."  At  other  times  he  nicknamed  him 
"Kasper  Hauser."  Once,  and  once  only,  in  refer- 
ence to  Hetty's  influence  over  the  being  he  chose 
to  regard  as  half-witted,  he  spoke  of  him  as  "a 
masculine  Undine,"  whereupon  his  sister-in-law 
turned  upon  him  a  look  that  surprised  him  and 
horrified  his  wife,  and  marched  out  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Wayt  followed  her  presently  and  found 
her  gazing  out  of  the  window  of  the  closet  to 
which  she  had  fled,  with  livid  face  and  dry  eyes 
that  were  dangerously  bright. 

"Percy  hopes  you  were  not  hurt  by  his  harm- 
less little  jest,"  said  the  gentle  wife.  "You 
know,  Hetty,  it  would  kill  me  if  you  and  he  were 
to  quarrel.  He  has  the  kindest  heart  in  the 
world,  and  respects  you  too  sincerely  to  offend 
you  knowingly.  You  must  not  mind  what 
sounds  like  extravagant  speech.  We  cannot 
judge  men  of  genius  as  we  would  ordinary  people. 
And,  dear,  for  my  sake  be  patient !" 

The  girl  yielded  to  the  weeping  embrace  of  the 
woman  whose  face  was  hidden  upon  her  shoulder. 

"Mr.  Wayt" — she  never  gave  him  a  more 
familiar  title — "cannot  hurt  me  except  through 
you,  Fanny.  You  and  he  must  know  that  by 
now.  I  will  try  to  keep  my  temper  better  in 
hand  in  future." 

Hetty  was  young  and  energetic,  and  used  to 
hard  work.  She  had  put  the  children  to  bed  early 
on  the  evening  of  their  arrival  in  Fairhill ;  sent 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  31 

her  sister,  who  had  a  sick  headache,  to  her  cham- 
ber before  Mr.  Wayt  returned  from  the  Gil- 
christs';  given  Hester's  aching  limbs  a  hot  bath 
and  a  good  rubbing,  and  only  allowed  Homer  to 
help  her  unpack  boxes  until  half-past  ten,  not 
retiring  herself  until  midnight.  The  carload  of 
furniture,  which  had  preceded  the  family  and 
been  put  in  place  by  the  neighborly  parishioners, 
looked  scantily  forlorn  in  the  roomy  manse.  The 
Ladies'  Aid  Association  had  asked  the  privilege 
of  carpeting  the  parlors,  dining  room,  stairs,  and 
halls,  and  Judge  Gilchrist,  instigated  by  his  wife, 
headed  a  subscription  that  fitted  up  the  pastor's 
study  handsomely.  The  sight  of  this  apartment 
had  more  to  do  with  Hetty's  short  speech  last 
night  and  her  down-heartedness  this  morning 
than  the  newness  of  quarters  and  the  knowledge 
of  the  nearly  spent  "housekeeping  purse." 

"The  people  will  expect  us  to  live  up  to  that 
study !"  she  divined  shrewdly,  staring  into  the 
blackness  that  began  to  show  two  gray  lights 
where  windows  would  shape  themselves  by  and 
by.  "And  we  cannot  do  it — strain  and  save  and 
turn  and  twist  as  we  may.  We  are  always  cut 
out  on  a  scant  pattern,  and  not  a  button  meets 
without  starting  a  seam.  How  sick  and  tired 
I  am  of  it  all!  How  tired  I  am  of  everything/ 
What  if  I  were  to  lie  stiH  as  other  girls — as  real 
young  ladies  do — and  sleep  until  I'm  rested 
out — rested  all  through  !  I  should  enjoy  nestling 


32  MR.    WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

down  among  the  pillows  and  pulling  the  covers 
about  my  head,  and  listening  to  the  rain,  as  much 
as  the  laziest  butterfly  of  them  all.  What's  the 
use  of  trying  to  keep  things  on  their  feet  any 
longer  when  they  must  go  down  with  a  crash 
sooner  or  later? 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  for  Hetty  Ailing!"  This 
was  the  summing  up  of  the  gloomy  reverie.  In 
saying  it  inwardly,  she  raised  herself  to  pinch 
the  pillow  savagely  and  double  it  into  a  higher 
prop  for  her  restless  head.  "She  is  lonely  and 
homesick  and  hasn't  a  friend  in  the  world.  She 
never  can  have  an  intimate  friend  for  reasons  she 
knows  so  well  she  is  sometimes  ready  to  curse 
God  and  die. 

"There!  Hester,  dear!  I  only  moved  you  a 
little  to  make  you  lie  easier.  No!  it  is  not  time 
to  get  up.  Don't  talk,  dear,  or  you'll  wake  your- 
self up." 

She  was  never  cross  with-  the  afflicted  child, 
but  in  her  present  mood,  the  moan  and  gurgle  of 
her  obstructed  respiration  went  through  her 
brain  like  the  scraping  of  a  saw.  The  change  of 
position  did  not  make  the  breathing  more  quiet, 
and  Hetty  got  up  with  the  general  out-of-tune- 
ativeness  best  expressed  by  saying  that  "one's 
teeth  are  all  on  edge."  She  dressed  by  candle- 
light, to  save  gas,  and  groped  her  way  down  the 
unfamiliar  backstairs  to  the  kitchen. 

It  was  commodious  and  well-appointed,  with 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  33 

a  pleasant  outlook  by  daylight.  In  the  dawn 
that  struggled  in  a  low-spirited  way  through  the 
rifts  in  the  rain  and  refused  to  blend  with  the 
yellow  blink  of  her  candle  and  Homer's  lantern, 
no  chamber  could  be  less  than  dismal. 

Homer  was  on  his  knees  in  front  of  the  flicker- 
ing fire,  at  which  he  stared  as  if  doggedly  deter- 
mined to  put  it  out  of  countenance. 

"Now" — his  way  of  beginning  nine  out  of  every 
ten  sentences — "this  ere's  a  new  pattern  of  a  range 
to  me,  an'  it's  tuk  me  some  time  fur  ter  git  holt 
on  it.  Most  new  things  comes  awk'ard  to  most 
folks." 

Hetty  blew  out  her  candle,  and,  dropping  into 
a  chair  in  physical  and  mental  languor,  sat  watch- 
ing the  grotesque  figure  clearing  away  ashes  and 
cinders.  His  wrestle  with  the  new  pattern  had 
begrimed  his  pale  face  and  reddened  his  weak 
eyes.  His  matutinal  costume  of  a  dim  blue 
flannel  shirt,  gray  trousers,  and  a  black  silk  skull 
cap  cast  off  by  Mr.  Wayt,  pushed  well  back  upon 
the  nape  of  the  neck  and  revealing  a  scanty 
uneven  fringe  of  whitey-brown  hair,  did  not 
provoke  the  spectator  to  a  smile. 

"There  is  no  bringing  him  up  to  the  tone  of 
that  study !"  she  meditated  grimly.  "'He  and  I 
are  hopeless  drudges,  but  he  is  the  happier  of  the 
two.  Homer !  I  believe  you  really  love  to  work !" 
she  broke  forth  finally. 

Homer  snickered — a  sudden  spurt  that  left  him 


34  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

very  sober.  His  laugh  always  went  out  like  a 
damp  match. 

"  Yes'm,  cert'nly,  ma'am  !  Ef  'twant  fur  work, 
there  wouldn't  be  nuthin'  to  live  fur!" 

He  shambled  off  to  the  cellar  with  the  ashpan, 
and  in  a  few  minutes,  she  could  distinguish  in  the 
sounds  rumbling  and  smothering  in  the  depths 
beneath  her  feet  the  melancholy  tune  of  his 
favorite  ditty : 

"  On  the  banks  of  the  Omaha — maha  ! 

'Twas  there  we  settled  many  a  night. 
As  happy  as  the  little  bird  that  sparkled  on  our  block 
On  the  banks  of  the  Omaha!  " 

Hetty  raised  the  window  and  leaned  out,  gasp- 
ing for  breath.  A  garden  lay  behind  the  house 
and  on  one  side  of  it.  It  was  laid  out  in  walks 
and  borders,  and  was  rather  broad  than  deep. 
Beyond  this  were  undefined  clumps  of  trees  that 
looked  like  an  orchard.  Roofs  and  chimneys  and 
spires  and  lines  of  other  trees,  marking  the  course 
of  streets,  were  emerging  from  the  soaking  mists. 
Five  o'clock  struck  from  a  tower  not  far  away, 
and  then  a  church  bell  began  to  ring  gently — a 
persuasive  call  to  early  prayers. 

The  warm,  sweet,  wet  air  that  aroused  her  to 
look  over  the  sill  at  a  row  of  hyacinths  in  full 
bloom,  the  slow  peal  of  the  bell,  the  hush  of  the 
early  morning,  did  not  comfort  her — but  the  soft 
moisture  that  filled  her  eyes  drew  heat  and  bit- 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER.  35 

terncss  out  of  her  heart.  When  she  went  up  to 
awaken  Hester  she  carried  a  spray  of  hyacinth 
bells,  weighted  with  fragrant  drops.  Fine  gems 
of  rain  sprinkled  her  hair,  her  cheeks  were  cool 
and  damp,  the  scent  of  fresh  earth  and  growing 
things  clung  to  her  skirts.  She  laid  the  flowers 
playfully  against  the  heavy  lids  lifted  peevishly 
at  her  call. 

'"There's  richness  for  you,'  "  she  quoted.  "A 
whole  bed  of  them  is  awaiting  your  inspection 
in  the  garden.  And  such  lovely  pansies — some 
as  big  as  the  palm  of  your  hand.  You  and  I  and 
Homer,  who  is  wild  with  delight  over  them,  will 
claim  the  flowers  as  our  especial  charge  and  prop- 
erty." 

"Thank  you  for  the  classification!"  snapped 
Hester.  "Yet  we  do  belong  to  backyards  as 
naturally  as  cats  and  tomato  cans.  At  least 
Homer  and  I  do.  You'd  climb  the  fence  if  you 
could." 

"With  the  other  cats?"  said  Hetty  lightly. 
"See!  I  am  putting  the  hyacinths  in  your  own 
little  vase.  I  unpacked  your  china  and  books  last 
night.  Not  a  thing  was  even  nicked.  You  shall 
arrange  them  in  this  jolly  corner  cupboard  after 
breakfast.  It  looks  as  if  it  were  made  a-puppose, 
as  Homer  says.  He  has  bumped  his  head  against 
strange  doors  and  skinned  his  poor  nose  against 
unexpected  corners  twenty  times  this  morning. 
He  says :  'Now — I  s'pose  it's  the  bran-new  house 


36  MR.    IV A  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

what  <?;rcites  me  so.  I  allers  gits  0,rcited  in  a 
strange  place.'  " 

The  well-meant  diversion  was  ineffectual. 

"His  excitement  ought  to  be  chronic,  then! 
Ugh  !  that  water  is  scalding  hot !'  shrinking  from 
the  sponge  in  Hetty's  hand.  "For  we've  done 
nothing  but  'move  on'  ever  since  I  can  recollect. 
I  overheard  mother  say  once,  with  a  sort  of  remi- 
niscent sigh,  that  our  'longest  pastorate  was  in 
Cincinnati.'  We  were  there  just  four  years.  We 
were  six  months  in  Chillicothe,  and  seven  in 
Ypsilanti.  Then  there  was  a  year  in  Memphis, 
and  eighteen  months  in  Natchez,  and  thirteen  in 
Davenport.  The  Little  Rock  church  had  a  strong 
constitution.  We  stayed  there  two  years  and 
one  week.  It's  my  opinion  that  he  is  the  Wan- 
dering Jew,  and  we  are  one  of  the  Lost 
Tribes." 

She  smiled  sour  approbation  of  her  sarcastic 
sally,  jerking  her  head  backward  to  bring  Hetty's 
face  within  range  of  her  vision.  The  deft  fingers 
were  fastening  strings  and  straps  over  the  mis- 
shapen shoulders.  The  visage  was  grave,  but 
always  kind  to  her  difficult  charge. 

"You  think  that  is  irreverent,"  Hester  fretted, 
wrinkling  her  forehead  and  beetling  her  eyebrows. 
"It  isn't  a  circumstance  to  what  I  am  thinking  all 
the  time.  Some  day  I  shall  be  left  to  myself  and 
my  bosom  devil  long  enough  to  spit  it  all  out. 
It's  just  bottling  up,  like  the  venom  in  Macbeth's 


MR.     WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER.  37 

witches'  toad  that  had  sweltered  so  long  under  a 
stone.  But  for  you,  crosspatch,  all  would  have 
been  said  and  done  long  ago." 

"You  wouldn't  make  your  mother  unhappy  if 
you  could  help  it,"  Hetty  said  cheerily.  "And 
it  isn't  flattering  to  her  to  compare  her  daughter 
to  a  toad." 

Hester  was  silent.  As  she  sat  in  Hetty's  lap, 
it  could  be  seen  that  she  was  not  larger  than  a 
puny  child  of  seven  or  eight.  The  curved  spine 
bowed  and  heightened  the  thin  shoulders;  she 
had  never  walked  a  step  since  the  casualty  that 
nearly  cost  her  her  life.  Only  the  face  and  hands 
were  uninjured.  The  latter  were  exquisitely 
formed,  the  features  were  fine  and  clearly  cut,  and 
susceptible  to  every  change  of  emotion.  That  the 
gentle  reproof  had  not  wrought  peaceable  fruits 
was  apparent  from  her  expression.  The  misfit  in 
her  organization  was  more  painfully  perceptible 
to  herself  early  in  the  day  than  afterward.  She 
seemed  to  have  lost  consciousness  of  her  unlike- 
ness  to  other  people  while  asleep,  and  to  be  com- 
pelled to  readjust  mental  and  physical  conditions 
every  morning.  Hetty  dreaded  the  process,  yet 
was  hardly  aware  of  the  full  effect  upon  her  own 
spirits,  or  why  she  so  often  went  down  to  break- 
fast jaded  and  appetiteless. 

"I  often  ask  myself,"  resumed  Hester,  with  slow 
malignity,  repulsive  in  one  of  her  age  and  rela- 
tion to  those  she  condemned— "if  children  ever 


38  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER. 

really  honor  their  parents.  We  won't  waste 
ammunition  upon  him — but  there  is  my  mother. 
She  is  a  pattern  of  all  angelic  virtues,  and  a 
woman  of  remarkable  mental  endowments.  You 
have  told  me  again  and  again  that  she  is  the  best 
person  you  ever  knew — patient,  heroic,  loving, 
loyal,  and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  string!  You 
tell  over  her  perfections  as  a  Papist  tells  her 
beads.  The  law  of  kindness  is  in  her  mouth  ;  and 
her  children  shall  arise  and  call  her  blessed,  and 
she  ought  not  to  be  afraid  of  the  snow  for  her 
household  while  her  sister  and  her  slave  Tony  are 
to  the  fore.  Don't  try  to  stop  me,  or  the  toad 
will  spit  at  you !  I  say  that  this,  one  would 
think,  impossible  She,  the  modern  rival  of  Solo- 
mon's pious  and  prudish  wise  woman — is  weak 
and  unjust  and " 

Hetty  interrupted  the  tirade  by  rising  and  lay- 
ing the  warped  frame,  all  a-quiver  with  excite- 
ment, upon  the  bed. 

"You  would  better  get  your  sleep  out"' — cover- 
ing her  up.  "When  you  awake  again  you  will 
behave  more  like  a  reasonable  creature.  I  can- 
not stay  here  and  listen  to  vulgar  abuse  of  your 
mother  and  my  best  friend." 

She  said  it  in  firm  composure,  drew  down  the 
shades,  and  without  another  glance  at  the  con- 
vulsed heap  sobbing  under  the  bedclothes,  left 
the  chamber.  Outside  the  door  she  paused  as  if 
expecting  to  be  recalled,  but  no  summons  came. 


MR.     WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SIST£K.  39 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  sad  little  smile  and 
passed  down  to  the  breakfast  room. 

Father,  mother,  and  four  children  were  at  the 
table.  Mr.  Wayt,  in  dressing  jacket,  slippers,  and 
silk  skull  cap,  a  cup  of  steaming  chocolate  at  his 
right  hand,  was  engrossed  in  the  morning  paper. 
A  pair  of  scissors  was  beside  his  plate,  that  he 
might  clip  out  incident  or  statistics  which  might 
be  useful  in  the  preparation  of  his  wide-awake 
sermons.  He  made  no  sign  of  recognition  at  the 
entrance  of  his  wife's  sister;  Mrs.  Wayt  smiled 
affectionately  and  lifted  her  face  for  a  good- 
morning  salute,  indicating  by  an  expressive  ges- 
ture her  surprise  and  pleasure  at  having  found 
room  and  meal  in  such  attractive  order.  Long 
practice  had  made  her  an  adept  in  pantomime. 
The  boys  nodded  over  satisfactory  mouthfuls; 
pretty  Fanny  pulled  her  aunt  down  for  a  hug  as 
she  passed ;  even  the  baby  made  a  mute  rosebud 
of  her  mouth  and  beckoned  Hetty  not  to  over- 
look her. 

Mr.  Wayt's  digestion  was  as  idiosyncratic  as 
his  nervous  system.  While  the  important  unseen 
apparatus  carried  on  the  business  of  assimilation, 
the  rest  of  the  physical  man  was  held  in  quiescent 
subjugation.  Agitation  of  molecular  centers 
might  entail  ruinous  consequences.  He  reasoned 
ably  upon  this  point,  citing  learned  authorities  in 
defense  of  the  dogma  that  simultaneous  func- 
tionation— such  as  animated  speech  or  auricular 


4°  MR.    IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

attention  and  digestion — is  an  impossibility,  and 
referring  to  the  examples  of  dumb  creatures  to 
prove  that  rest  during  and  after  eating  is  a  natural 
law. 

He  raised  his  eyes  above  the  margin  of  his 
newspaper  at  the  clink  of  the  chocolate  pot 
against  the  cup  in  Hetty's  hand.  The  question- 
ing gaze  met  a  goodly  sight.  His  wife's  sister 
wore  a  buff  gingham,  finished  at  throat  and  wrists 
with  white  cambric  ruffles,  hemmed  and  gathered 
by  herself.  Her  dark  brown  hair  was  in  perfect 
order ;  her  sleeves  were  pushed  back  from  strong, 
shapely  wrists.  She  always  gave  one  the  impres- 
sion of  clean-limbedness,  elasticity,  and  neatness. 
She  was  firm  of  flesh  and  of  will.  The  prettier 
woman  at  the  head  of  the  table  was  flaccid  beside 
her.  The  eyes  of  the  younger  were  fearless  in 
meeting  the  master's  scrutiny,  those  of  his  wife 
were  wistful,  and  clouded  anxiously  in  passing 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"For  Hester,"  said  Hetty,  in  a  low  voice,  look- 
ing away  from  Mr.  Wayt  to  her  sister.  "She  is 
tired,  and  will  take  her  breakfast  in  bed." 

"I  remonstrate" — Mr.  Wayt's  best  audience 
tones  also  addressed  his  wife — "as  I  have  repeat- 
edly had  occasion  to  do,  against  the  practice  of 
pampering  an  invalid  until  her  whims  dominate 
the  household.  Not  that  I  have  the  least  hope 
that  my  protest  will  be  heeded.  But  as  the 
child's  father,  I  cannot,  in  conscience,  withhold  it." 


MR.    IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  41 

Light  scarlet  flame,  in  which  her  features 
seemed  to  waver,  was  blown  across  Hetty's  face. 
She  set  down  the  pot,  poured  back  what  she  had 
taken  from  it,  and  with  a  reassuring  glance  at  her 
sister's  pleading  eyes,  went  off  to  the  kitchen. 
There  she  hastened  to  find  milk,  chocolate,  and 
saucepan,  and  to  prepare  a  foaming  cup  of  Hes- 
ter's favorite  beverage;  Homer,  meanwhile,  toast- 
ing a  slice  of  bread,  delicately  and  quickly. 

Hester's  great  eyes  were  raised  to  her  aunt 
from  lids  sodden  with  tears;  her  lips  trembled 
unmanageably  in  trying  to  frame  her  plea. 

"Forgive  me!  please  forgive  me!"  she  sobbed. 
"You  know  what  my  morning  fiend  is.  And  I 
am  not  brave  like  you,  or  patient  like  mother!" 

Hetty  fondled  the  hot  little  hands. 

"Let  it  pass,  love.  I  was  not  angry,  but  some 
subjects  are  best  left  untouched  between  us. 
Here  is  your  breakfast.  Homer  says  that  I 
'make  chawkerlette  jes'  the  same's  they  did  for 
him  in  the  horspittle  when  he  had  the  new- 
money.'  They  must  have  had  a  French  c/iefand 
a  marvelous  menu  in  that  famous  'horspittle.'  It 
reminds  me  of  Little  Dorritt's  Maggie  and  her 
'  'evenly  chicken,'  and  'so  lovely  an'  'ospittally !'  " 

She  had  the  knack  of  picking  up  and  making 
the  most  of  little  things  for  the  entertainment  of 
her  hapless  charge.  Mrs.  Wayt  was  much  occu- 
pied with  the  other  children,  to  whom  she  devoted 
all  the  time  she  could  spare  from  her  husband. 


42  MR.     WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

It  happened  occasionally  that  he  would  eat  no 
bread  she  had  not  made,  and  oftener  that  his 
craving  was  for  certain  entries  she  alone  could 
prepare  to  his  liking.  She  brushed  his  coat  and 
hat,  kept  the  run  of  missing  papers  and  handker- 
chiefs, tied  his  cravats,  sat  by  him  in  a  darkened 
room  when  he  took  his  afternoon  siesta,  wrote 
letters  from  his  dictation,  and,  when  he  was 
weary,  copied  in  a  clear,  clerkly  hand  or  upon  his 
typewriter,  sermons  and  addresses  from  the  notes 
he  was  wont  to  pencil  in  minute  characters  upon 
a  pocket  pad.  At  least  four  nights  out  of  seven 
she  arose  in  the  dead  of  darkness  to  read  aloud 
to  him  for  one,  three,  and  four  hours,  when  the 
baleful  curse,  insomnia,  claimed  him  as  her  prey. 
His  fad,  at  this  date,  was  what  Homer  tickled 
Hester  into  hysterics  by  calling  "them  horse- 
phates."  Horsford's  acid  phosphate,  if  the  oracle 
were  to  be  believed,  ought  to  be  the  vade  mecnm 
of  ailing  humanity.  He  carried  a  silver  flask  con- 
taining it  in  his  pocket  everywhere ;  dropped  the 
liquid  furtively  upon  a  lump  of  sugar,  and  ate  it 
in  the  pulpit,  during  anthem,  or  voluntary,  or 
offertory;  mixed  it  with  water  and  drank  it  on 
the  cars,  in  drugstores,  in  private  houses,  and  at 
his  meals,  and  Mrs.  Wayt  kept  spirit  lamp 
and  kettle  in  her  bedroom  with  which  to  heat 
water  for  the  tranquilizing  and  peptic  draught  at 
cock -crowing  or  at  midnight.  If  she  had  ever 
complained  of  his  exactions,  or  uttered  an  un- 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTEX.  43 

gentle  word  to  him,  neither  sister  nor  child  had 
heard  her.  She  would  have  become  his  advocate 
against  himself  had  need  arisen — which  it  never 
did. 

"My  ministering  angel,"  he  named  her  to  the 
Gilchrists,  his  keen  eyes  softened  by  ready  dew. 
"John  Randolph  said,  in  his  old  age,  of  his 
mother:  'She  was  the  only  being  who  ever  under- 
stood me.'  I  can  say  the  same  of  my  other  and 
dearer  self.  She  interprets  my  spirit  intuitions 
when  they  are  but  partially  known  to  myself. 
She  meets  my  nature  at  every  turn." 

She  met  it  to-day  by  mounting  guard — some- 
times literally — before  the  door  of  his  study — the 
one  room  which  was  entirely  in  order — while  he 
prepared  his  discourses  for  the  ensuing  Sabbath. 
The  rest  found  enough  and  more  than  enough  to 
do  without  the  defended  portal.  Fanny  was  shut 
up  in  the  dining  room  with  the  baby  Annie,  and 
warned  not  to  be  noisy.  The  twins  carried 
bundles  and  boxes  up  and  downstairs  in  their 
stocking-feet ;  Homer  pried  off  covers  with  a 
muffled  hammer,  and  shouldered  trunks,  empty 
and  full,  leaving  his  shoes  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
Hester  said  nothing  of  a  blinding  headache  and  a 
"jumping  pain"  in  her  back  while  she  dusted 
books  and  china.  Hetty  was  everywhere  and 
ever  busy,  and  nobody  spoke  a  loud  word  all  day. 

"You  might  think  there  was  a  corpse  in  the 
study  instead  of  a  sermon  being  born!"  Hester 


44  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER. 

had  once  sneered  to  her  confidante.  "I  never 
hear  him  preach,  but  I  know  I  should  be  re- 
minded of  the  mountain  that  brought  forth  a 
mouse." 

One  of  her  father's  many  protests,  addressed  at 
Hetty  and  to  his  wife,  was  that  their  eldest  born 
was  "virtually  a  heathen." 

"Home  education  in  religion,  even  when 
administered  by  the  wisest  and  tenderest  of 
mothers — like  yourself,  my  love — must  still  fall 
short  of  such  godly  nurture  and  admonition  as 
are  contemplated  in  the  command :  'Forsake  not 
the  assembling  of  yourselves  together.'  There  is 
didactic  theology  in  David's  holy  breathing:  'A 
day  in  thy  courts  is  better  than  a  thousand.'  " 

"Better  than  a  thousand  in  the  same  place?  I 
should  think  so,"  interposed  Hester's  tuneless 
pipe.  "He  needn't  have  been  inspired  to  tell  us 
that !  Family  worship  suffices  for  my  spiritual 
needs.  That  must  be  the  porch  to  the  'courts,' 
at  least." 

In  speaking  she,  too,  looked  at  her  mother,  al- 
though every  word  was  aimed  at  her  father. 

"It  is  a  cruel  trick  that  we  have!"  Hetty  had 
said  of  the  habit.  "Every  ball  strikes  that  much- 
tried  and  innocent  woman,  no  matter  who 
throws  it." 

"Of  course!"  retorted  the  sarcastic  daughter. 
"And  must  while  the  angle  of  incidence  is  equal 
to  that  of  reflection." 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  45 

In  the  discussion  upon  family  versus  church 
religion  she  carried  her  point  by  a  coup  d'ttat, 

"Pews  and  staring  pewholders  are  all  well 
enough  for  straight-backed  Christians!"  she 
snarled.  "I  won't  be  made  a  holy  show  of  to 
gratify  all  the  preachers  and  presbyteries  in 
America !" 

Anything  like  physical  deformity  was  especially 
obnoxious  to  Mr.  Wayt.  The  most  onerous 
duties  pertaining  to  his  holy  office  were  visitation 
of  the  sick  and  burial  of  the  dead.  Hester's  beau- 
tiful golden  hair,  falling  far  below  her  waist,  veiled 
her  humped  shoulders,  and  her  refined  face  look- 
ing out  from  this  aureole,  as  she  lay  in  her 
wheeled  chair,  would  be  picturesquely  interesting 
in  the  chancel,  if  not  seen  too  often  there.  The 
coarse  realism  of  her  refusal  routed  him  .  com- 
pletely. With  an  artistic  shudder  and  a  look  of 
eloquent  misery,  likewise  directed  at  his  wife,  he 
withdrew  his  forces  from  the  field.  That  night 
she  read  "Sartor  Resartus"  to  him  from  three 
o'clock  until  6  A.  M.,  so  intolerable  was  his 
agony  of  sleeplessness. 

It  happened  so  often  that  Hetty  was  the  only 
responsible  member  of  the  family  who  could  re- 
main at  home  with  the  crippled  girl,  that  neither 
Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Wayt  seemed  to  remark  that  her 
churchgoing  was  less  than  nominal.  Hester 
called  Sunday  her  "white-letter  day,"  and  was 
usually  then  in  her  best  and  most  tolerant  temper, 


46  MR.     WAYTS    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

while  her  fellow-sinner  looked  forward  to  the 
comparative  rest  and  liberty  it  afforded  as  the 
wader  in  marshlands  eyes  a  projecting  shoulder 
of  firm  ground  and  dry  turf. 

It  was  never  more  welcome  than  on  the  fair 
May  day  when  the  Fairhill  "people"  crowded  the 
First  Church  to  hear  the  new  pulpit  star. 

"The  prayer  which  preceded  the  sermon  was  a 
sacred  lyric,"  said  the  Monday  issue  of  the  Fair- 
hill  Pointer.  "In  this  respect  Rev.  Mr.  Wayt  is 
as  remarkably  gifted  as  in  the  oratory  which 
moved  his  auditors  alternately  to  tears,  and 
smiles,  and  glows  of  religious  fervor.  We  regret 
the  impossibility  of  reporting  the  burning  stream 
of  supplication  and  ascription  that  flowed  from 
his  heart  through  his  lips,  but  a  fragment  of  the 
introduction,  uttered  slowly  and  impressively,  is 
herewith  given  verbatim,  as  a  sample  of  incom- 
parable felicity  of  diction : 

'"THOU  art  mighty,  merciful,  masterful,  and 
majestic.  We  are  feeble,  fickle,  finite,  and  fad- 
ing.' "* 

March  Gilchrist  had  his  say  anent  the  sample 
sentence  on  the  way  home  from  church.  He  was 
not  connected  with  the  press,  and  his  criticism 
went  no  further  than  the  ears  of  his  somewhat 
scandalized  and  decidedly  diverted  sister. 

In  intuitive  anticipation  of  the  reportorial 
eulogy,  he  affirmed  that  the  diction  was  not  in- 
comparable. 

*  Literal  report. 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  47 

"I  heard  a  Georgia  negro  preacher  beat  it  all 
hollow,"  he  said.  "He  began  with:  'THOU  art 
all-sufficient,  self-sufficient,  and  ^-sufficient !'  " 

"March  Gilchrist!     How  dreadful!" 

They  were  passing  the  side  windows  of  the 
parsonage,  which  opened  upon  a  quiet  cross  street. 
May's  laugh  rippled  through  the  bowed  shutters 
of  the'  dining  room  behind  which  sat  a  girl  in  a 
blue  flannel  gown,  holding  upon  her  knee  and 
against  her  shoulder  a  hunchbacked  child  with  a 
weirdly  wise  face.  They  were  watching  the 
people  coming  home  from  church. 

"A  religious  mountebank  is  the  most  despica- 
ble of  humbugs,"  said  March's  breezy  voice,  as 
he  whirled  a  pebble  from  the  walk  with  his  cane, 
and  watched  it  leap  to  the  middle  of  the  street. 

Hester  twisted  her  neck  to  look  into  Hetty's 
eyes. 

"They  are  discussing  their  beloved  and  elo- 
quent pastor!  My  heart  goes  out  to  those  two 
people!" 


CHAPTER  III. 

"HETTY!  do  you  ever  think  what  it  would  be 
like  to  be  engaged?" 

"Engaged  to  do  what?"  said  Hetty  lazily. 

She  lay  as  in  a  cradle,  in  a  grassy  hollow  under 
an  apple  tree — the  Anak  of  his  tribe.  The 
branches,  freighted  with  pink  and  white  blooms, 
dipped  earthward  until  the  extreme  twigs  almost 
brushed  the  grass,  and  shut  in  the  two  girls  arbor- 
wise.  The  May  sun  warmed  the  flowers  into 
fragrance  that  hinted  subtly  of  continual  fruiti- 
ness.  Hester  said  she  tasted,  rather  than  smelled 
it.  Bees  hummed  in  the  boughs;  through  the 
still  blandness  of  the  air  a  light  shower  of  petals 
fell  silently  over  Hetty's  blue  gown,  settled  upon 
her  hair,  and  drifted  in  the  folds  of  the  afghan 
covering  Hester's  lower  limbs. 

Homer  had  discovered  in  the  garden  fence  a 
gate  opening  into  this  orchard,  and  confidentially 
revealed  the  circumstance  to  Hetty  who,  in  time, 
imparted  it  to  Hester,  and  conspired  with  her  to 
explore  the  paradise  as  soon  as  the  boys  and 
Fanny  were  safely  off  to  Sunday  School. 

"Engaged  to  do  what?"  Hetty  had  said  in  such 
good  faith  that  she  opened  dreamy  eyes  wide  at 
the  accent  of  the  reply. 
48 


MR.     IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  49 

"To  be  married,  of  course,  Miss  Ingenuous! 
What  else  could  I  mean?" 

"Oh-h-h!"  still  more  indolently.  "I  don't 
know  that  I  ever  thought  far  in  that  direction. 
Why  should  I?" 

"Why  shouldn't  you,  or  any  other  healthy  and 
passably  good-looking  girl,  expect  to  be  en- 
gaged— and  be  married — and  be  happy?  It  is 
time  you  began  to  take  the  matter  into  considera- 
tion, if  you  never  did  before." 

"There  is  usually  another  party  to  such  an 
arrangement." 

"And  why  not  in  your  case?" 

"Where  should  he  come  from?  Is  he  to  drop 
from  the  moon?  Or  out  of  the  apple  tree" — 
stirred  to  the  simile  by  the  flick  of  a  tinted  petal 
upon  her  nose.  "Or  am  I  to  stamp  him  out  of 
the  earth,  a  la  Pompey?  And  what  could  I  do 
with  him  if  he  were  to  pop  up  like  a  fairy  prince, 
at  this  or  any  other  instant?" 

"Fall  in  love  with  him,  and  marry  him  out-of- 
hand  !  I  wish  you  would,  Hetty,  and  take  me  to 
live  with  you  !  That  is  one  of  my  dearest  dreams. 
I  have  thought  it  all  out  when  the  backache  keeps 
me  awake  at  night,  and  when  I  get  quiet  dreamy 
hours  by  day,  when  he  is  off  pastoraling,  and  the 
boys  and  Fan  are  at  school,  and  baby  Annie  is 
asleep,  and  I  can  hear  Tony  croning  'Sweet  Julia' 
so  far  away  I  can't  distinguish  the  frightful  words, 
and  you  are  going  about  the  house  singing  to 


50  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER. 

yourself,  and  blessing  every  room  you  enter  like 
a  shifting  sunbeam." 

"Why,  my  pet,  you  are  talking  poetry!" 

Hetty  raised  her  head  from  the  arms  crossed 
beneath  it,  and  stared  at  the  child.  The  light, 
filtered  through  the  mass  of  scented  color,  fresh- 
ened her  complexion  and  rounded  the  outlines  of 
her  face;  her  solemn  eyes  looked  upward;  her 
hands  lay  together,  like  two  lily  petals,  upon  the 
coverlet.  Unwittingly  she  was  a  living  illustra- 
tion of  her  father's  theory  of  the  Reality  of  the 
Unseen. 

"No !"  she  answered  quietly.  "Not  poetry, 
for  it  may  easily  come  to  pass  that  you  should 
have  a  husband  and  home  of  your  own.  I  do 
dream  poems  sometimes,  if  poetry  is  clouds  and 
sunsets  and  music  nobody  else  hears,  and  voices — 
and  love  words — and  bosh!" 

Hetty  could  not  help  laughing. 

"Tell  me  some  of  the  glory  and  the  bosh !  This 
is  a  beautiful  confessional,  Hester;  I  wish  we  had 
nothing  to  do  for  a  week  but  to  lie  on  the  grass, 
and  look  at  the  blue  sky  through  apple  blossoms." 

"Amen!"  breathed  her  companion  softly,  and 
for  a  while  they  were  so  quiet  that  the  robins, 
nesting  upon  the  other  side  of  the  tree,  began  to 
whisper  together. 

"Bosh  and  my  poetry  dreams  are  synonyms," 
resumed  Hester,  her  voice  curiously  mellowed 
from  its  accustomed  sharpness.  "Other  people 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  51 

may  say  as  much  of  theirs.  I  know  it  of  mine. 
There's  the  difference.  All  the  same  they  are  as 
sweet  as  the  poisoned  honey  we  were  reading 
about  the  other  day,  which  the  bees  make  from 
poppy  fields.  And  while  I  suck  it,  I  forget.  My 
romance  has  no  more  foundation  than  the  story 
of  the  Prince  and  the  Little  White  Cat.  Mine 
is  a  broken-backed  cat,  but  she  comes  straight 
in  my  dreams  after  her  head  is  cut  off.  You 
don't  suppose  she  minded  that !  She  must 
have  been  so  impatient  when  the  Prince  hesi- 
tated that  she  was  tempted  to  grab  his  sword 
and  saw  through  her  own  neck.  You  see  she 
recollected  what  she  had  been.  The  woman's 
soul  was  cooped  up  in  the  cat's  skin.  And  I 
was  eight  years  old  when  the  evil  spell  was  laid 
upon  me  !  " 

The  tears  in  Hetty's  throat  hindered  response. 
Never  until  this  instant,  with  all  her  love  for  her 
dependent  charge,  her  knowledge  of  her  suffer- 
ings, and  the  infinite  pity  these  engendered,  had 
the  deprivations  Hester's  affliction  involved 
seemed  so  horribly,  so  atrociously  cruel.  The 
listener's  nails  dug  furrows  in  her  palms,  she  set 
her  teeth,  and  looking  up  to  the  unfeeling  smile 
of  the  deaf  and  dumb  heavens,  she  said  something 
in  her  heart  that  would  have  left  faint  hope  of 
her  eternal  weal  in  the  orthodox  mind  of  her 
brother-in-law. 

Hester  was  speaking  again. 


52  MR.    WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

"Every  painter  has  his  models.  I  have  had 
mine.  I  dress  each  one  up  and  work  the  wires 
to  make  him  or  her  go  through  the  motions — 
my  motions,  mind  you  !  not  theirs,  poor  puppets ! 
When  the  dress  gets  shabby,  or  the  limbs  rickety, 
I  throw  them  upon  the  rubbish  heap,  and  look 
out  for  another. 

"I  got  a  new  one  last  Thursday.  The  man 
who  jumped  over  me  in  the  station,  and  afterward 
carried  me  into  the  restaurant  (such  strong,  steady 
arms  as  he  had !)  is  a  real  hero !  Oh,  I  am  build- 
ing a  noble  castle  to  put  him  in  !  He  lives  near 
here,  for  he  passes  the  house  three  times  a  day. 
His  eyes  have  a  smile  in  them,  and  his  mustache 
droops  just  like  Charles  I.'s,  and  he  walks  with  a 
spring  as  if  he  were  so  full  of  life  he  longed  to 
leap  or  fly,  and  his  voice  has  a  ring  and  resonance 
like  an  organ.  The  pretty  girl  that  called  him 
'Mark'  to-day,  is  his  sister." 

"Why  not  his  wife?" 

"Wife !  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  the  cut  of 
a  married  man,  even  on  the  street?  He  hasn't 
the  first  symptom  of  the  craft.  He  doesn't  swag- 
ger, and  he  doesn't  slink.  A  husband  does  one 
or  the  other." 

Hetty  laughed  out  merrily.  There  was  a  sense 
of  relief  in  Hester's  return  to  the  sarcastic  raillery 
habitual  to  her,  which  made  her  mirth  the 
heartier. 

A  man  crossing  the  lower  slope  of  the  orchard 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTEK.  53 

heard  the  bubbling  peal,  and  looked  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  big  tree.  So  did  his  attendant,  a  huge 
St.  Bernard  dog.  He  tore  up  the  acclivity,  bel- 
lowing ferociously.  Before  his  master's  shout 
arose  above  his  baying  he  was  almost  upon  the 
girls.  At  the  instant  of  alarm,  Hetty  had  thrown 
herself  before  the  wheeled  chair  and  the  helpless 
occupant,  and  faced  the  foe.  Crouching  slightly, 
as  for  a  spring,  her  face  blenched,  eyes  wide  and 
steady,  she  stood  in  the  rosy  shadow  of  the 
branches,  both  hands  outthrown  to  ward  off  the 
bounding  assailant. 

"What  a  pose !"  was  March's  first  thought,  pro- 
fessional instinct  asserting  itself,  concerned 
though  he  was  at  the  panic  for  which  he  was  re- 
sponsible. In  the  same  lightning  flash  came — 
"I'll  paint  that  girl  some  day!" 

"Don't  be  frightened !"  he  was  calling,  as  he 
ran.  "He  will  not  hurt  you !" 

Hester  had  shrieked  feebly,  and  lay  almost 
swooning  among  her  cushions.  Hetty  had  not 
uttered  a  sound,  but,  as  the  master  laid  his  hand 
on  the  dog's  collar  her  knees  gave  way  under  her, 
and  she  sank  down  by  the  cripple's  chair,  her 
head  resting  upon  the  edge  of  the  wicker  side. 
She  was  fighting  desperately  for  composure,  or 
the  semblance  of  it,  and  did  not  look  up  when 
March  began  to  apologize. 

"I  am  awfully  sorry,"  he  panted,  ruefully  peni- 
tent. "And  so  will  Thor — my  dog,  you  know — 


54  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

be  when  he  understands  how  badly  he  has  be- 
haved. He  is  seldom  so  inhospitable." 

The  words  brought  up  Hetty's  head  and  wits. 

"Are  we  trespassing?"  she  queried  anxiously. 
"We  thought  that  this  orchard  was  a  part  of  the 
parsonage  grounds,  or  we  would  not  have  come. 
It  is  we  who  should  beg  your  pardon." 

"By  no  means !"  He  had  taken  off  his  hat,  and 
in  his  regretful  sincerity  looked  handsomer  than 
when  his  eyes  had  smiled,  concluded  Hester, 
whose  senses  were  rapidly  returning.  "My  name 
is  Gilchrist,  and  my  father's  grounds  adjoin  those 
of  the  parsonage.  He  had  the  gate  cut  between 
your  garden  and  the  orchard,  that  the  clergy- 
man's family  might  be  as  much  at  home  here  as 
ourselves.  I  hope  you  will  forgive  my  dog's  mis- 
demeanor, and  my  heedlessness  in  not  seeing  you 
before  he  had  a  chance  to  frighten  you." 

Summoning  something  of  his  father's  gracious 
stateliness,  he  continued,  more  formally : 

"Have  I  the  pleasure  of  addressing  Miss 
Wayt?" 

Bow  and  question  were  for  Hetty.  Hester's 
voice,  thin  and  dissonant,  replied  with  old-fash- 
ioned decorum  of  manner,  but  in  unconventional 
phrase : 

"/  have  the  misfortune  to  be  Miss  Wayt.  This 
is  Mr.  Wayt's  wife's  sister,  Miss  Ailing." 

It  was  a  queer  speech,  made  queerer  by  the 
prim  articulation  the  author  deemed  proper  in  the 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  55 

situation.  March  tried  not  to  see  that  the  sub- 
ject of  the  second  clause  of  the  introduction 
flushed  deeply,  while  her  mute  return  of  his  bow 
had  a  serious  natural  grace  he  thought  charming. 
When  he  begged  that  she  would  resume  her  seat, 
the  little  roguish  curl  at  the  corner  of  her  lips, 
which  he  recollected  as  archly  demure,  came  into 
play. 

"We  have  no  chairs  to  offer,  but  if  you  do  not 
object  to  the  best  we  have  to  give" — finishing 
the  half  invitation  by  seating  herself  upon  a  grass- 
grown  root,  jutting  out  near  the  trunk  of  the 
tree. 

"The  nicest  carpet  and  lounge  in  the  world," 
affirmed  March,  sitting  down  upon  the  sward. 
"Odd,  isn't  it,  that  American  men  don't  know 
how  to  loll  on  the  turf  as  English  do?  Our 
climate  is  ever  so  much  drier  and  we  have  three 
times  as  many  fair  days  in  the  year,  and  some  of 
us  seem  to  be  as  loosely  put  together.  But  we 
don't  understand  how  to  fling  ourselves  down  all 
in  a  heap  that  doesn't  look  awkward  either,  and 
be  altogether  at  ease  in  genuine  Anglican  fashion. 
Even  if  there  are  ladies  present,  an  Englishman 
lies  on  the  grass,  and  it  is  considered  'quite  the 
thing,  don't  you  know?'  They  say  the  imported 
American  never  gets  the  hang  of  it,  try  as  he  will. 
A  man  must  be  born  on  the  other  side  or  he  can't 
learn  it." 

"There  may  be  something  in  your  countryman's 


56  MR.    IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SJSTEJt. 

born  reverence  for  women  that  prevents  him 
from  mastering  the  accomplishment,"  said  Hetty, 
a  little  dryly. 

March  bowed  gayly. 

"Thank  you  for  the  implied  compliment  in  the 
name  of  American  men !  I  am  glad  you  are  get- 
ting the  benefit  of  this  perfect  May  day.  There, 
at  any  rate,  we  have  the  advantage  of  the  Mother 
Country,  if  she  has  given  us  the  Maypole  and 
'The  Queen  of  the  May.'  This  is  a  sour  and 
dubious  month  in  Merry  England." 

"You  have  been  there,  then?" 

Hester  said  it  abruptly,  as  she  said  most  things, 
but  the  eagerness  dashed  with  longing  that  gave 
plaintive  cadence  to  the  question,  caught  March's 
ear. 

"Several  times.  I  sailed  from  Liverpool  twelve 
days  ago.  I  was  just  off  the  steamer,  and  may 
be  a  little  unsteady  on  my  feet,  when  I  collided 
with  your  carriage  last  Thursday,  and  you  gener- 
ously forgave  me." 

The  girl  was  regarding  him  with  frank  admira- 
tion that  would  have  annoyed  an  ultra-sensitive 
man,  and  amused,  while  it  flattered,  a  vain  one. 

"It  must  be  heavenly  to  travel  in  the  country 
of  Scott  and  Dickens!"  she  said,  quaintly  nai've. 
"How  you  must  have  enjoyed  it ! 

"I  did,  exceedingly,  but  less  on  account  of 
'David  Copperfield'  and  'Nicholas  Nickleby' 
than  because,  as  a  boy,  I  reveled  in  English  his- 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER.  57 

tory,  and  that  my  mother's  father,  for  whom  I  was 
named,  was  English.  You  should  hear  my  sister 
talk  of  her  first  journey  across  England.  She 
would  say  every  little  while  in  an  awed  undertone : 
'This  is  just  living  Dickens!'  You  have  not  met 
her  yet,  I  think?"  to  Hetty. 

"No." 

The  tone  was  reserved,  without  being  rude. 
He  could  have  fancied  that  sadness  underlay  civil 
regret.  Perhaps  May  had  been  mistaken  in  post- 
poning her  call  until  the  parsonage  was  in  perfect 
order. 

"She  means  to  call  very  soon.  She  thought  it 
would  be  unneighborly  to  intrude  before  you  had 
recovered  from  the  fatigue  of  removal  and  travel. 
Mr.  Wayt  was  my  father's  guest  for  a  day  or 
two,  you  know,  before  your  arrival,  and  I  have 
since  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  several 
times  and  of  hearing  him  preach  this  morning." 

In  the  pause  that  succeeded  the  speech  the 
church  bell  began  to  ring  for  afternoon  service. 
Under  the  impression  that  he  had  lost  caste  in 
not  attending  upon  the  second  stated  ordinance 
of  the  sanctuary  he  offered  a  lame  explanation. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  not  an  exemplary  church- 
goer. But  I  find  one  sermon  as  much  as  I  can 
digest  and  practice  from  Sunday  to  Sunday.  My 
mother  doesn't  like  to  hear  me  say  it.  She 
thinks  such  sentiments  revolutionary  and  un- 
canonical,  and  no  doubt  she  is  right." 


5 8  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

"Anybody  is  excusable  for  preferring  to  wor- 
ship 'under  green  apple  boughs'  to-day,"  observed 
Hester,  with  uncharacteristic  tact.  "You  see  we 
have  always  lived  in  cities,  great  and  small.  We 
have  been  used  to  brick  walls  and  narrow,  high 
houses,  with  paved  backyards,  with  cats  on  the 
fences" — disgustfully — "and  wet  clothes  flapping 
in  your  eyes  if  you  tried  to  pretend  to  ruralize. 
Everybody  hasn't  as  much  imagination  as  Young 
John  Chivery,  who  said  the  flapping  of  sheets 
and  towels  in  his  face  'made  him  feel  like  he  was 
in  groves.'  " 

"Fairhill  has  preserved  the  rural  element 
remarkably  well,  when  one  considers  her  tens  of 
thousands  of  inhabitants,  her  water  supply  and 
electric  lights,"  said  March;  "and  luckily  one 
doesn't  need  much  imagination  to  help  out  his 
enjoyment  of  the  world  on  this  Sunday  after- 
noon." 

His  tone  was  so  respectfully  familiar,  his  bear- 
ing so  easy,  the  girls  forgot  that  he  was  a  stranger. 

"It  wasn't  your  Dickens  who  said  it,  but  you 
can,  perhaps,  tell  me  who  did  write  a  verse  that 
has  been  running  in  my  unpoetical  brain  ever 
since  I  entered  your  fairy  bower,"  he  said  by  and 
by. 

"  The  orchard's  all  a-flutter  with  pink  ; 

Robins'  twitter,  and  wild  bees'  humming 
Break  the  song  with  a  thrill  to  think 

How  sweet  is  life  when  summer  is  coming. 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  59 

"That  is  the  way  it  goes,  I  believe.  It  is  a 
miracle  for  me  to  recollect  so  much  rhyme.  The 
robins  and  bees  must  have  helped  me  out." 

"I  wish  I  knew  who  did  that!"  sighed  Hester. 
"Oh !  what  it  must  be  to  write  poetry  or  paint 
pictures!" 

March's  glance  of  mirthful  suspicion  changed 
at  sight  of  the  knotted  brow  and  wistful  eyes. 

"One  ought  to  be  thankful  for  either  gift,"  he 
said  quietly.  "I  was  thinking  just  now  how  I 
should  like  to  make  a  picture  of  what  I  saw  as  I 
ran  up  the  hill.  May  I  try  some  day?" 

Hetty  drew  herself  up  and  looked  inquiry. 
Hester's  hands  fluttered,  painful  scarlet  throbbed 
into  her  cheeks. 

"Can  you  draw?  Do  you  paint?  Are  you  an 
artist  f  "  bringing  out  the  last  word  in  an  excited 
whisper. 

March  was  too  much  touched  to  trifle  with  her 
agitation.  "I  try  to  be,"  he  answered  simply, 
almost  reverently. 

"And  would  you — may  I — would  it  annoy 
you — Hetty!  ask  him.  You  know  what  I  want !" 

"My  darling!"  The  cooing,  comforting  mur- 
mur was  passing  sweet.  "Be  quiet  for  one 
moment,  and  you  can  put  what  you  want  to  say 
into  words."  As  the  fragile  form  quivered  under 
her  hand,  a  light  seemed  to  dawn  upon  her. 
"You  see,  Mr.  Gilchrist,  my  niece  loves  pictures 
better  than  anything  else  and — she  never  has  met 


60  MR.    WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTEK. 

a  real,  live  artist  before,"  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
yielding  a  little.  "She  has  had  a  great  longing 
to  know  how  the  beautiful  things  that  delight  her 
are  made — how  they  grow  into  being.  Is  that  it, 
dear?" 

Hester  nodded,  her  eyes  luminous  with  tears 
she  strove  to  drive  back. 

March  struck  his  hands  together  with  boyish 
glee. 

"I  have  it!  I  will  make  a  study  of  'orchards 
all  a-flutter  with  pink,'  and  you  shall  see  me  put 
in  every  stroke.  May  I  begin  to-morrow? 
Blossom-time  is  short.  How  unspeakably  jolly ! 
May  we,  Miss  Ailing?" 

The  proposition  was  so  ingenuous,  and  Hester's 
imploring  eyes  were  so  eloquent,  that  the  referee 
turned  pale  under  the  heart-wrench  demur  cost 
her. 

"Dear!"  she  said  soothingly,  to  the  invalid,  "it 
would  not  be  right  to  promise  until  we  have  con- 
sulted your  mother.  Mr.  Gilchrist  is  very  kind. 
Indeed" — raising  an  earnest  face  whose  pallor  set 
him  to  wondering — "you  must  believe  that  we 
do  appreciate  your  goodness  in  offering  her  this 
great  happiness.  But — Hester,  love,  we  must  ask 
mamma." 

March  had  seen  Mrs.  Wayt  in  church  that  fore- 
noon, and  been  struck  anew  with  her  delicate 
loveliness.  Could  she,  with  that  Madonna  face, 
be  a  stern  task-mistress?  With  the  rise  of  diffi- 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  6 1 

culties,  his  desire  to  paint  the  picture  increased. 
That  this  unfortunate  child,  with  the  artist  soul 
shining  piteous  through  her  big  eyes,  should  see 
the  fair  creation  grow  under  his  hand  had  become 
a  matter  of  moment.  As  poor  Hester's  effort  to 
express  acquiescence  or  dissent  died  in  a  hyster- 
ical gurgle,  and  a  shamed  attempt  to  hide  her  hot 
face  with  her  hands,  the  tender-hearted  fellow 
arose  to  take  leave. 

"I  won't  urge  my  petition  until  you  have  had 
time  to  think  it  over.  But  I  don't  withdraw  it. 
May  I  bring  my  sister  over  to  see  you  both? 
She  is  fond  of  pictures,  too,  and  dabbles  in  water- 
colors  on  her  own  account.  Excuse  me — and 
Thor — for  our  unintentionally  unceremonious 
introduction  to  your  notice,  and  thank  you  for  a 
delightful  half-hour.  Good-afternoon !" 

Hetty  looked  after  him,  as  his  elastic  stride 
measured  off  the  orchard  slope — a  contradiction 
of  strange  mortification  and  strange  delight  war- 
ring  within  her.  It  was  as  if  a  young  sun-god  had 
paused  in  the  entrance  of  a  gruesome  cave,  and 
talked  familiarly  with  the  prisoners  chained  to  the 
walls.  With  all  her  resolute  purpose  to  oppose 
the  intimacy  which  she  foresaw  must  arise  from 
the  proposed  scheme  of  picture-making,  she  could 
not  ignore  the  straining  of  her  spirit  upon  her 
bonds. 

"Oh!"  wailed  Hester,  lowering  her  hands,  "I 
didn't  mean  to  be  so  foolish !  I  will  be  brave 


62  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

and  sensible,  but  you  know,  Hetty,  I  have  never 
had  anything  like  this  offered  to  me  before.  It 
is  like  dying  with  thirst  with  water  before  one's 
eyes,  to  give  it  up.  And  when  he  said  :  'Blossom- 
time  is  short,'  it  rushed  over  me  that  I  never 
had  any — I  can  never  have  any.  I  am  just  a 
withered,  useless,  ugly  bud  that  will  never  be  a 
flower." 

An  agony  of  sobs  followed. 

"My  precious  one  !"  Hetty's  tears  flowed  with 
hers.  "Do  I  ever  forget  your  sorrows?  Are  you 
listening,  dear?  If  possible,  you  shall  have  this 
one  poor  little  pleasure.  You  must  trust  your 
mother's  love  and  mine,  to  deny  you  nothing  we 
can  safely  give.  If  we  must  refuse,  it  is  only 
bearing  a  little  more !" 

The  going  out  of  the  May  day  was  calm  as 
with  remembered  happiness,  but  the  chill  that 
lurks  in  the  imperfectly  tempered  air  of  the 
newborn  season,  awaiting  the  departure  of  the 
sun,  was  so  pronounced  by  seven  o'clock  that 
Hetty  called  upon  Homer  to  build  a  fire  in  the 
sitting  room,  where  she  and  Hester  were  sitting. 
The  children  were  sent  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock. 
Mrs.  Wayt  was  lying  down  in  her  chamber 
with  one  of  her  frequent  headaches,  rallying 
her  forces  against  her  husband's  return  from  the 
long  walk  he  found  necessary  "to  work  off  the 
cumulative  electricity  unexpended  by  the  day's 


MR.    IVA  YT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER.  63 

"I  belong  to  the  peripatetic  school  of  philos- 
ophy," he  said  to  a  parishioner  whom  he  met  two 
miles  from  home. 

"He  was  forging  ahead  like  a  trained  prize- 
fighter," reported  the  admiring  pewholder  to  a 
friend.  "Nothing  of  the  sentimental  weakling 
about  him  !  " 

March  and  May  Gilchrist,  pausing  upon  the 
parsonage  porch,  at  sound  of  a  voice  singing  softly 
and  clearly  within,  saw,  past  a  half-drawn  sash  cur- 
tain, Hetty  rocking  back  and  forth  in  the  fire- 
light, with  Hester  in  her  arms.  The  cripple's 
head  was  thrown  back  slightly,  bringing  into  re- 
lief the  small,  fine-featured  face  and  lustrous  eyes. 
Her  wealth  of  hair  waved  and  glittered  with  the 
motion  of  the  chair  like  spun  gold.  It  might 
have  been  a  young  mother  crooning  to  her  baby 
in  a  sort  of  chant,  the  words  of  which  were  dis- 
tinctly audible  to  brother  and  sister,  the  nearest 
window  being  lowered  a  few  inches  from  the  top. 
Hester  loved  heat  and  light  as  well  as  a  salaman- 
der, but  could  not  breathe  freely  in  a  closed  room. 
To-night  was  one  of  her  "bad  times,"  and  nothing 
but  Hetty's  singing  could  win  her  a  moderate 
degree  of  ease. 

"  Blow  winds  ! "  [sang  Hetty] 

"  And  waft  through  all  the  rooms 
The  snowflakes  of  the  cherry  blooms  ! 
Blow  winds  !  and  bend  within  my  reach 
The  fiery  blossoms  of  the  peach  ! 


64  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

"  O  Life  and  Love  !     O  happy  throng 
Of  thoughts  whose  only  speech  is  song ! 
O  heart  of  man  !  canst  thou  not  be 
Blithe  as  the  air  is,  and  as  free  ?  '' 

March  moved  forward  hastily  to  ring  the  bell. 
He  felt  like  an  eavesdropping  spy  upon  the  un- 
conscious girls.  Without  any  knowledge  of  the 
isolation  and  mutual  dependence  of  the  two,  the 
visitors  perceived  pathos  in  the  scene — in  the 
clinging  helplessness  of  one  and  the  brooding  ten- 
derness expressed  in  the  close  clasp  and  bent 
head  of  the  other. 

The  singing  ceased  instantly  at  the  sound  of 
the  gong.  "By  George!  what  an  alarm !"  mut- 
tered March,  discomfited  by  the  clang  succeeding 
his  touch.  "And  I  gave  it  such  a  genteel  pull !" 

His  attitude  was  apologetic  still,  when  Mr. 
Wayt's  wife's  sister  opened  the  door. 

"I  seem  fated  to  be  heralded  noisily !"  he  said 
regretfully*  "I  had  as  little  idea  of  the  tone  of 
your  doorbell  as  you  had  of  the  power  of  Thor's 
lungs.  Miss  Ailing,  let  me  introduce  my  sister! 
She  gave  me  no  peace  until  I  brought  her  to  see 
you." 

May  extended  her  hand  with  unmistakable  in- 
tention of  good  fellowship. 

"I  scolded  him  for  stealing  a  march  upon  me 
this  afternoon  while  I,  like  a  dutiful  Christian, 
was  in  church,"  she  said.  Her  .smile  was  her 
brother's,  her  blithe,  refined  tones  her  own.  "But 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  65 

I  mean  to  improve  my  advantages  the  more  dili- 
gently on  that  account." 

The  genial  persiflage  had  bridged  over  the 
always  awkward  transit  from  front  door  to  draw- 
ing room  when  the  host  is  the  conductor.  It  was 
the  more  embarrassing  in  this  case  because  the 
two  meagerly  furnished  parlors  were  unlighted 
except  as  a  glimmer  from  the  hall  gas  added  to 
the  sense  of  space  and  emptiness. 

"Allow  me!"  March  took  from  Hetty's  fingers 
the  match  she  had  lighted,  and  reached  up  to  the 
chandelier.  The  white  illumination  flashed  upon 
a  pleasing  study  of  an  up-looking  manly  face,  with 
honest,  hazel  eyes,  drooping  mustache,  and  teeth 
that  gleamed  in  the  smile  attending  the  question  : 
"I  hope  your  niece  is  none  the  worse  for  her 
fright?" 

"Thank  you!  I  think  not.  She  is  rather  nerv- 
ous than  timid,  and  not  usually  afraid  of  dogs." 

"I  hope  we  can  see  her  to-night?"  May  took 
up  ;the  word.  "My  brother  says  she  is  such  a 
dainty,  bright  little  creature  that  I  am  impatient 
to  meet  her." 

Hetty's  eyes  glowed  with  gratitude  and  sur- 
prise. No  other  visitor  had  ever  named  the 
afflicted  daughter  of  the  house  in  this  tone.  The 
frank,  cordial  praise  kept  back  no  implication  of 
pitying  patronage.  Mr.  Wayt's  wife's  sister  had 
knocked  about  the  world  of  churches  and  parishes 
long  enough  to  know  that  the  perfect  breeding 


66  MR,    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

which  ignores  deformity  without  overlooking  the 
deformed  is  the  rarest  of  social  gifts.  In  any 
other  circumstances,  she  would  have  refused 
steadfastly  to  subject  Hester  to  the  scrutiny  of  a 
stranger.  As  it  was,  she  hesitated  visibly. 

"She  is  seldom  able  to  receive  company  in  the 
evening.  But  I  will  see  how  she  is  feeling  to- 
night." 

She  had  remarkable  self-possession,  as  March 
had  noted  already.  She  got  herself  out  of  the 
room  without  mumble  or  halt.  She  walked  well, 
and  with  a  single  eye  to  her  destination,  with  no 
diffident  conjectures  as  to  how  she  moved  or 
looked.  March  had  keen  perceptions  and  critical 
notions  upon  such  points. 

"What  an  interesting  looking  girl,"  observed 
May,  in  an  undertone. 

And  March,  as  cautiously — "I  hope  she  will  let 
us  see  the  little  one!  She  is  the  jolliest  grig  you 
can  conceive  of." 

Both  tried  not  to  look  about  them  while 
waiting  for  the  hostess'  return.  The  place  was 
forlornly  clean,  and  the  new  carpets  gave  forth 
the  ungoodly  smell  of  oily  wool  that  nothing 
but  time  and  use  can  dissipate.  Plaintive  efforts 
to  abolish  stiffness  were  evident  in  chairs  grouped 
in  conversational  attitudes  near  the  summer- 
fronted  fireplace,  and  a  table  pulled  well  away 
from  the  wall,  with  books  and  photographs  lying 
about  on  it.  March  could  fancy  Hetty  doing 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  67 

these  things,  then  standing  disheartened,  in  the 
waste  of  moquette,  under  the  consciousness  that 
there  was  not  one-fifth  enough  furniture  for  the 
vast  rooms.  At  this  point,  he  spoke  again  sub- 
duedly : 

"What  possessed  the  church  to  build  these 
desolate  barns  and  call  them  family  parlors?" 

May  was  a  parish  worker,  and  looked  her  sur- 
prise. 

"A  parsonage  must  have  plenty  of  parlor  room 
for  church  sociables." 

"Then  those  who  use  them  ought  to  furnish 
them.  Or,  say!  it  wouldn't  be  amiss  to  keep 
them  up  as  show  places  are  abroad — by  charging 
a  shilling  admission  fee." 

Hetty's  return  saved  him  from  deserved  rebuke. 

"My  niece  will  be  very  happy  to  see  you,"  she 
reported,  rather  formally,  her  eyes  darkling  into 
vague  trouble  or  doubt  as  she  said  it.  On  the 
way  across  the  hall  she  added  hurriedly  to  May: 
"We  never  overpersuade  her  to  meet  strangers. 
In  this  case  there  was  no  need." 

May's  gloved  hand  sought  hers  with  a  swift, 
involuntary  gesture.  It  was  the  merest  touch 
that  emphasized  the  low  "Thank  you  !"  but  both 
struck  straight  home  to  Hetty's  heart.  The  Gil- 
christ  tact  was  inimitable. 

Hester  lay  upon  a  lounge,  propped  into  a  sit- 
ting posture  with  pillows.  Her  hair  and  drapings 
were  cunningly  disposed.  A  casual  eye  would 


68  MR.    WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTEK. 

not  have  penetrated  the  secret  of  the  withered 
limbs  and  curved  spine.  A  red  spot  like  a  rose- 
leaf  rested  upon  each  cheek,  her  eyes  shone,  and 
her  silent  smile  revealed  small,  perfect  teeth  like 
a  two-year-old  baby's.  She  was  so  winsome  that 
May  stooped  impulsively  to  kiss  her  as  she  would 
a  pretty  child. 

"I  came  to  tell  you  how  angry  AVC  all  are — my 
father,  mother,  and  I — with  my  brother  and  his 
dog  for  scaring  you  to-day,"  she  said,  seating  her- 
self on  an  ottoman  by  the  lounge,  and  retaining 
hold  of  the  wee  hand  until  it  ceased  to  twitch  and 
burn  in  hers.  "I  did  think  Thor  knew  better! 
His  tail  committed  innumerable  apologies  to  me 
when  I  told  him  I  hoped  to  see  you  this  evening." 

March  and  Hetty,  chatting  together  near  the 
crackling  wood  fire,  caught  presently  sentences 
relative  to  colors  and  pencils  and  portfolios,  and 
slackened  their  talk  to  listen.  May  had  elicited 
the  confession  that  Hester's  brush  was  a  solace 
and  the  only  pastime  she  had  "except  reading 
and  Hetty's  music." 

"But  it's  only  trying  with  me,"  said  the  tuneless 
voice.  "I  have  had  no  teacher  except  Hetty." 

"My  dear  Hester!"  cried  the  person  named. 
"Be  candid,  and  say  'worse  than  none !'  " 

Hester  colored  vividly  at  this  evidence  that  her 
confidences  to  her  new  friend  were  shared  by 
others,  but  rallied  gallantly  to  support  her  asser- 
tion. 


MR.     WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  69 

"She  doesn't  think  she  has  any  talent  for  draw- 
ing, but  she  took  lessons  for  three  months  that 
she  might  teach  me  how  to  shade  and  manage 
perspective,  and  use  water  colors.  She  and  I 
amuse  ourselves  with  caricatures  and  all  that,  and 
I  make  drawings — very  poor  ones — to  illustrate 
poems  and  stories,  while  she  reads  to  me,  and  I 
do  a  little — you  can't  imagine  how  little  and  how 
badly! — in  color.  Just  bits,  you  know — grass 
and  mossy  sticks,  and  brambles  running  over 
stones,  and  frost-bitten  leaves — and  such  things. 
Hetty  is  always  on  the  lookout  for  studies  for  me. 
I  cannot  sit  up  long  enough  to  undertake  any- 
thing more  important  if  I  had  the  skill.  And  I 
shouldn't  dare  venture  to  copy  anything  really 
beautiful — such  as  apple  blossoms,"  with  a  short- 
lived smile  at  March  that  left  a  plait  between  her 
eyes. 

Intercepting  Hetty's  apprehensive  glance,  he 
smiled  in  return,  but  forbore  to  introduce  the 
petition  left  with  them  that  afternoon.  May  had 
been  stringent  on  this  point. 

"Don't  allude  to  it  this  evening!"  she  enjoined 
upon  him.  "Nothing  is  in  worse  taste  than  to 
use  a  first  call  as  a  lever  for  selfish  ends.  I'll  run 
in  to-morrow  morning,  and  try  my  powers  of  per- 
suasion. Meantime,  get  your  canvas  and  palette 
ready." 

Hetty's  spirits  rose  when  she  perceived  that  the 
exciting  topic  was  avoided.  The  four  were  in 


7°  MR.    WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

the  swing  of  merry  converse  when  the  clock  struck 
nine,  and,  as  if  he  had  waited  for  the  signal,  Mr. 
Wayt  walked  in.  March,  who  sat  by  Hetty,  saw 
her  stiffen  all  over,  and  her  eyes  sink  to  the  floor. 
Hester  began  to  cough  irrepressibly — a  hard,  dry 
hack,  to  quiet  which  Hetty  went  to  get  a  glass  of 
water.  The  pallor  of  the  pastor's  face  had  a 
bilious  tinge ;  his  eyes  were  sunken,  his  whole 
appearance  haggard  and  wild.  Yet  his  greeting 
to  the  guests  was  effusive,  his  flow  of  language 
unabated.  Neither  daughter  nor  sister-in-law 
offered  to  second  him.  Hester's  roses  faded,  the 
ever  present  fold  between  her  eyebrows  was 
almost  a  scowl.  Hetty  was  coldly  imperturbable, 
and  the  Gilchrists  soon  made  a  movement  to  go. 

Mr.  Wayt  stepped  forward  airily  to  accompany 
them  to  the  door,  Hetty  falling  into  the  rear  and 
parting  from  them  with  a  grave  bow  upon  the 
threshold  of  the  sitting  room. 

"My  regards  to  your  estimable  parents,"  said 
the  host  on  the  porch,  his  pulpit  tone  carrying 
far  through  the  night.  "A  clerical  friend  of  mine 
dubbed  Judge  Aaron  Hollingshed  of  Chicago,  an 
active  elder  in  his  church,  and  his  wife,  who  was 
a  true  mother  in  Israel — 'Aaron  and  her  /'  I 
already,  in  spirit,  apply  the  like  titles  to  Judge 
and  Mrs.  Gilchrist.  It  is  such  spirited  support  as 
theirs  that  upholds  the  hands  of  the  modern 
Moses  against  the  Amaleks  of  the  day.  Thank 
you  for  calling,  and  good-night  to  you  both." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MAY  GlLCHRlST  had  not  overestimated  her  per- 
suasive powers.  A  call  on  Mrs.  Wayt,  under- 
taken as  soon  as  she  had  seen,  from  her  watch 
window,  the  tall,  black  figure  of  the  clergyman 
issue  from  his  gate,  and  take  his  way  down-town, 
won  his  wife's  sanction  to  the  presence  of  her  sis- 
ter and  daughter  in  the  orchard  that  afternoon  to 
watch  Miss  Gilchrist's  brother  upon  a  sketch  he 
proposed  to  begin  before  the  apple  blossoms  fell. 

"I  shall  be  there,  of  course,"  the  young  diplo- 
matist mentioned  casually.  "I  am  studying  art 
in  an  amateurish  way,  under  my  brother's  direc- 
tion. I  dearly  enjoy  seeing  him  paint.  His 
hand  is  so  firm  and  rapid,  and  his  eye  so  true ! 
Your  daughter  tells  me  she  is  fond  of  drawing. 
March  and  I  would  be  only  too  happy  to  render 
any  assistance  in  our  power  to  forward  her  studies 
in  that  line." 

"My  sister  has  spoken  to  me  of  your  kindness 
and  his,"  Mrs.  Wayt  answered  thoughtfully. 
"She  told  me  also  that  she  had  referred  the 
question  of  accepting  Mr.  Gilchrist's  generous 
proposition  to  me.  Hesitation  seems  ungracious, 
but  my  poor  child  is  very  excitable,  and  in  nerve 


72  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

so  unfit  to  work  long  at  anything  that  I  have 
doubted  the  expediency  of  allowing  her  to  be- 
come interested  in  her  favorite  pursuit  to  the 
extent  necessary  for  the  acquisition  of  any  degree 
of  skill." 

Nevertheless  May  went  home  victorious,  and 
Mrs.  Wayt,  disquiet  in  eye  and  soul,  sought  her 
sister  and  detailed  the  steps  of  the  siege  and  the 
surrender. 

"Refusal  was  impossible  without  risking  the 
displeasure  of  influential  parishioners,  or  exciting 
suspicions  that  might  be  more  hurtful,"  she  con- 
cluded. 

Hetty  was  cleaning  silver  in  the  dining  room. 
Over  her  buff  gingham  she  wore  a  voluminous  bib 
apron  ;  housewifely  solicitude  informed  her  whole 
personality.  Her  hair  was  turned  back  from  her 
temples,  and  the  roughened  roll  showed  rust-red 
lights  in  a  bar  of  sunshine  crossed  by  her  head  as 
she  moved.  The  lines  of  her  face  had  what  Hester 
called  "their  forenoon  sag"  a  downward  inclina- 
tion that  signified  as  much  care  as  she  could  bear. 
She  rubbed  a  tablespoon  until  she  could  see  each 
loosened  hair  and  drooping  line  in  it,  before 
unclosing  her  thinned  lips  to  reply.  Even  then 
her  speech  was  reluctant. 

"The  child  is  yours,  Frances — not  mine,  dearly 
as  I  love  her.  I  understand  as  well  as  you  how 
cruel  it  seems  to  deny  her  what  is,  in  itself,  a 
harmless  pleasure.  Still,  we  have  agreed  up  to 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  73 

this  time  that  it  is  inexpedient  to  give  people  the 
run  of  the  house,  and  this  looks  like  a  straight 
road  to  that." 

She  did  not  glance  up  in  speaking,  or  after- 
ward. Her  accent  was  unimpassioned,  her 
thoughts  apparently  engrossed  in  the  business  of 
bringing  polish  out  of  tarnish. 

"There  are  circumstances  that  may  alter  cases — 
and  premises,"  returned  Mrs.  Wayt  deprecat- 
ingly.  "I  cannot  but  feel  that  we  may  begin  to 
argue  and  determine  from  a  different  standpoint. 
I  wish  you  could  be  a  little  more  sanguine,  dear." 

"You  don't  wish  it  more  than  I  do,  sister!  I 
wasn't  built  upon  the  'Hope  on,  Hope  ever'  plan. 
My  utmost  effort  in  that  direction  is  to  make  the 
best  of  what  cannot  be  bettered.  And  since  you 
have  said  'Yes'  to  this  painting  scheme  we  will 
think  only  of  what  a  boon  it  will  be  to  Hester. 
The  new  cook  is  a  more  imminent  difficulty.  This 
house  is  large,  and  the  salary  excellent,  I  admit, 
but  it  would  have  been  wise  to  wait  until  our 
arrival  before  engaging  her." 

She  knew  that  her  sister  was  as  much  surprised 
as  herself  at  Mr.  Wayt's  commission  to  Mrs. 
Gilchrist,  also  that  the  wife  would  not  plead  this 
ignorance  in  self-defense. 

"Homer,  you,  and  I  could  have  divided  the 
housework,  as  we  did  in  other  places,"  continued 
Hetty,  attacking  a  row  of  forks,  now  that  the 
spoons  were  done  with,  "and  we  could  hire  a 


74  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

woman  by  the  day  to  wash  and  iron.  The  cook 
may  justify  Mrs.  Gilchrist's  recommendation.  I 
dare  say  she  will.  Only — but  I'll  not  utter 
another  croak  to-day !  You  are  an  angelic  opti- 
mist, and  I  am  given  over  to  pessimism  of  the 
opposite  type.  We  will  accept  Mary  Ann  and 
the  rest  of  the  goods  the  Fairhill  gods  provide, 
including  the  open-air  studio,  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry,  and  make  up  our  minds  that  to-morow  we 
wont  die !  I'd  seal  the  covenant  with  a  kiss  if  I 
were  quite  certain  that  I  am  not  silicon-ed  up 
to  the  eyes." 

Mrs.  Wayt  bore  a  pained  and  heavy  heart  to 
the  nursery  and  her  mending  basket.  She  loved 
Hetty  fondly,  and  with  what  abundant  reason  no 
one  knew  so  well  as  the  heroic  wife  of  a  selfishly 
eccentric  man.  She  trusted  her  sister's  sterling 
sense,  and  in  most  instances  was  willing  to  abide 
by  her  judgment,  but  there  were  radical  differ- 
ences in  their  views  upon  certain  subjects.  The 
very  pains  Hetty  took  to  avert  open  discussion 
of  what  lay  like  a  carking  blight  upon  the  spirits 
of  both  caused  friction  and  rawness,  and  the 
feigned  levity  with  which  she  closed  the  door 
upon  the  topic  would  have  been  insult  from  any- 
one else.  She  had  no  alternative  but  to  submit, 
no  help  but  in  the  Refuge  of  all  pure  souls 
tempted  almost  out  of  measure  by  the  sins  and 
perversities  of  those  dearest  to  them.  Upon  the 
knees  of  her  heart  she  besought  wisdom  and  com- 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  75 

fort,  and — sweet  satire  upon  the  pious  duty  of 
self-examination ! — forgiveness  for  her  intoler- 
ance of  others'  foibles! 

Baby  Annie  was  building  block  houses  upon 
the  floor,  and  filling  them  with  dandelions. 
Homer  had  brought  a  small  basketful  up  to  her 
just  before  Mrs.  Wayt  was  summoned  to  her 
visitor,  and  had  helped  the  child  erect  a  castle 
while  the  mother  was  below.  Upon  her  entrance, 
he  shuffled  out  as  sheepishly  as  if  she  had  detected 
him  rifling  the  pockets  of  her  husband's  Sunday 
clothes.  These  lay  over  a  chair  by  her  work 
table.  While  she  prayed,  her  fingers  plied  the 
needle  upon  a  ripped  lining  and  two  loose 
buttons. 

"See,  mamma,"  entreated  the  little  one.  "So 
many  dandeyions!  Annie  make  house  for  dee 
papa!"  The  mother  stooped  to  kiss  her;  a  tear 
splashed  upon  the  mass  of  wilting  golden  disks 
packed  into  papa's  treasure  chamber.  At  the 
same  age  Hester  had  prattled  of  "dee  papa,"  and 
was  his  faithful  shadow  wherever  he  would  allow 
her  to  follow.  He  had  been  too  busy  of  late 
years  and  too  distraught  by  various  anxieties  to 
take  much  notice  of  the  younger  children,  but  he 
had  made  a  pet  of  little  Hester.  He  used  to  call 
her  "  Lassie  with  glory  crowned,"  as  he  twined  and 
burnished  her  sunny  curls  around  his  fingers. 
Annie  was  a  loving  little  darling,  but  neither  so 
sprightly  nor  so  beautiful  as  her  first-born  at  the 


?6  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

same  age.  She  worshiped  her  father,  and  he 
was  beginning  to  recognize  and  be  pleased  by  her 
preference. 

"Poor  Percy!" 

"Papa  sick?"  asked  the  child,  startled  by  the 
ejaculation. 

"No,  my  darling.  Papa  is  very  well.  Mamma 
is  only  sorry !  sorry !  sorry!" 

"Sorry !  sorry !  sorry!  Mamma  sorry !  sorry ! 
sorry!  "  While  she  crammed  the  yellow  flowers 
into  the  castle,  the  baby  made  the  words  into  a 
song,  catching  intonation  and  emphasis  as  they 
had  escaped  her  mother's  lips. 

Dandelions  dying  were  as  fair  to  her  as  dande- 
lions golden-crisp  in  the  meadow  grass.  A  drop 
of  blood,  red  from  the  heart,  would  mean  no  more 
than  a  coral  bead. 

At  three  o'clock,  Hester's  chair  was  drawn  by 
Homer  into  the  orchard.  The  painter,  his  sister, 
his  dog,  and  his  easel  were  already  in  place. 
March  had  sketched  in  the  arbor,  and  indicated 
the  figures  sufficiently  to  reveal  the  purpose  of 
the  picture. 

Blossom-time  is  short,  but  fortunately  the 
weather  that  week  was  phenomenally  equable  for 
May.  In  eight  days  the  painting  was  finished. 
The  reader  may  have  noticed  it  at  the  Academy 
exhibition  the  next  winter,  where  it  was  cata- 
logued as  "The  Defense."  Hetty's  portrait  and 
pose  were  admirably  rendered,  and  the  bound  of 


MR.    IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTEK.  77 

the  big  St.  Bernard  was  fiercely  spirited.  But 
the  wonder  of  the  group  was  the  occupant  of  the 
low  wicker  carriage. 

"My  baby  daughter!"  faltered  Mrs.  Wayt, 
on  first  seeing  it,  and  no  more  words  would 
come. 

To  herself  and  to  March,  later  and  confiden- 
tially, Hetty  spoke  of  it  as  ' 'Hester  glorified."  At 
times,  she  was  almost  afraid  to  look  at  it.  It  was 
the  face  of  an  infant,  but  an  infant  whose  soul 
had  outleaped  the  limitations  of  years.  The  filmy 
gold  of  her  hair  lay,  cloudlike,  about  her,  her  per- 
fectly molded  hands  were  clasped  in  the  fearless 
delight  of  ignorance  as  she  leaned  forward  to  wel- 
come the  enemy  her  custodian  was  ready  to  beat 
off.  It  was  Hester  in  every  lineament. 

Even  the  baby  knew  it.  But  it  was  Hester  as 
her  brothers  and  sisters  would  never  see  her  unless 
among  the  fadeless  blossoms  of  the  world  where 
crooked  things  will  be  made  straight. 

March  Gilchrist  was  not  poetical  except  with 
his  brush.  It  was  his  tongue,  his  song,  his  story. 
Through  it  Hetty  Ailing  first  learned  to  know 
him,  yet  they  were  never  strangers  after  that  ear- 
liest meeting  in  the  orchard.  She  was  a  capital 
sitter,  and  he  lingered  over  her  portrait  as  he 
dared  not  over  Hester's  for  fear  of  wearying  her. 
While  Hetty  posed,  and  he  painted,  May  and 
Hester  became  warm  friends.  Miss  Gilchrist  had 
her  own  sketchbook,  and  March  improvised  an 


78  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER. 

easel  for  it,  which  was  attached  to  the  wheeled 
chair,  in  desk  fashion.  Under  May's  tutelage 
Hester  made  a  study  of  apple  blossoms,  and 
another  of  plumy  grasses  which  the  overlooker 
praised  with  honest  warmth,  and  promised  to 
keep  forever  as  souvenirs  of  the  "pink-and-white 
week."  The  robins  were  so  used  to  the  sight 
of  the  social  group  that  they  exchanged  tender 
confidences  freely  overhead,  as  to  summer  plans 
and  prospective  birdlings.  Thor's  massive  bulk 
crushed,  daily,  the  same  area  of  sunny  turf,  and 
he  may  have  had  canine  views  as  to  the  folly  of 
working  when  the  sun  was  warm  and  the  sod 
softest.  The  orchard,  where  every  tree  was  a 
mighty  bouquet,  was  an  impervious  screen  be- 
tween the  party  and  the  streets  and  such  windows 
as  commanded  the  slope. 

"It  is  paradise,  with  rows  upon  rows  of  shin- 
ing, fluffy  angels  to  keep  out  the  rest  of  the 
world !"  said  Hester,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  last 
sitting.  "I'm  glad  it  is  we  who  are  inside!  And 
not  another  soul!" 

March  was  dabbling  his  brushes  in  a  wide- 
mouthed  bottle  of  turpentine,  preparatory  to  put- 
ting them  up. 

"Nothing  exclusive  about  her — is  there?"  he 
laughed  to  Hetty,  in  mock  admiration. 
She  answered  in  the  same  vein : 
"She  was  always  an  incorrigible  aristocrat !" 
"Say    a    beggarly   aristocrat,   and    free    your 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  79 

mind!"  retorted  Hester  good-humoredly.  "I 
don't  care  who  knows  it.  Who  doesn't  prefer  a 
select  coterie  to  a  promiscuous  'crush'?  I'd  like 
to  dig  out  this  orchard  just  as  I  would  a  square 
of  turf,  and  set  it  down  in  the  middle  of  the 
South  Seas  (wherever  they  may  be)  where  the 
trees  wouldn't  shed  their  blossoms  the  whole 
year  round,  and  we  four — with  the  robins  and 
Thor  thrown  in  ornamentally — might  paint  and 
talk  and  live  forever  and  a  day.  I  used  to  won- 
der what  answer  I  would  make  to  the  fairy  who 
offered  three  wishes — but  I  am  quite  ready  for 
her  now.  I'd  fuse  them  all  into  one!" 

"Are  you  sure?  Going!  Going!  the  last  call! 
Gone/"  cried  March,  bringing  down  his  biggest 
brush,  h  la  auctioneer's  hammer,  upon  Thor's 
head. 

"Gone  it  is!"  responded  Hester,  folding  her 
tiny  hands  upon  her  heart,  and  closing  her  eyes 
in  an  ecstasy  of  satisfaction.  "Let  nobody  speak 
for  five  minutes.  (Look  at  your  watch,  Mr.  Gil- 
christ !)  For  five  minutes  we  will  make  believe 
that  the  deed  is  done,  and  we  are  translated.  I 
hear  the  surf  on  the  shores  of  the 

"  Dear  little  isle  of  our  own, 
Where  the  winds  never  sigh,  and  the  skies  never  weep. 

"Hush!" 

They  humored  this  one  of  her  caprices,  as  they 
had  others.  She  was  full  of  fancies,  some  odd, 


8o  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

some  ghastly,  some  graceful.  Even  practical 
May  yielded  obedience  to  the  mandate,  and,  lay- 
ing her  head  against  the  bole  of  the  tree,  met  the 
bright  eye  of  the  mother  robin  peering  over  the 
edge  of  her  nest  with  what  May  chose  to  inter- 
pret as  a  wink  of  intelligent  amusement. 

"She  asked  >me  as  plainly  as  dumb  show  could 
ask,  who  would  provide  three  meals  a  day  for  the 
happy  exclusives,  and,  when  I  alluded  to  bread* 
fruit  trees  and  beefsteak  geraniums,  wanted  to 
know  where  ovens  and  gridirons  would  come 
from,"  said  May  afterward ;  "That  formed  the 
basis  of  my  five-minute  reverie." 

My  soul,  to-day, 

Is  far  away,, 
Sailing  the  Vesvivian  bay ; 

My  winged  boat, 

A  bird  afloat, 
Swims  'round  the  purple  peaks  remote. 

So  runs  the  poem,  between  the  lines  of  which 
might  be  written  the  exultant,  "Absent  from  the 
body  /"  Hester's  soul  had  the  poet's  power  of 
"drifting"  into  absolute  idealization.  She  was 
used  to  building  with  dream  stuff.  In  the  time 
she  had  allotted,  she  lived  out  a  lifetime,  to 
tell  of  which  would  require  hours  and  many 
pages.  That  she  paid  for  the  wide  sweep  into 
the  remote  and  the  never-to-be,  by  reaction  bit- 
terer than  death,  never  dissuaded  her  from  other 
voyages  of  the  "winged  boat." 


MR.    IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  8l 

For  perhaps  sixty  seconds  Hetty,  sitting  upon 
the  turf  by  the  recumbent  Thor,  and  idly  pulling 
his  shaggy  hair,  reflected  regretfully  upon  this 
certain  reflex  action ;  then,  as  if  uttered  in  her 
ear,  recurred  the  words:  "Where  we  four  might 
paint,  and  talk,  and  live  forever !" 

"We  four!"  Involuntarily,  her  eye  sped  from 
one  to  another  of  the  group ;  from  May's  placid 
visage  and  smile  upraised  to  the  robin's  nest,  to 
the  face  framed  about  by  pale  blue  cushions — 
colorless  as  wax,  the  pain  lines  effaced  by  the 
sweet  exaltation  oftenest  seen  upon  the  forehead 
and  mouth  of  a  dead  child — consciousness,  rising 
into  majesty,  of  having  compassed  all  that  is  given 
to  the  human  creature  to  know,  the  full  posses- 
sion of  a  happy  secret  to  be  shared  with  none 
who  still  bear  the  weight  of  mortality.  Hetty's 
heart  slackened  its  beat  while  she  gazed  upon  the 
motionless  features.  Her  "child"  was,  for  the 
time,  rapt  beyond  her  reach.  Yet  it  was  only 
"make  believe"  after  all,  that  snared  her  into 
temporary  bliss! 

Before  the  pang  of  the  thought  got  firm  hold 
of  her  she  met  March  Gilchrist's  eyes,  full,  and 
fixed  upon  hers. 

He  lay  along  the  grass,  supporting  himself  on 
his  left  elbow,  his  cheek  upon  his  hand,  the  other 
hand,  still  holding  the  big  brush,  had  fallen  across 
Thor's  back.  His  eyes  were  startled,  as  by  an 
unexpected  revelation,  and  as  her  glance  touched 


82  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

them,  sudden,  glad  light  leaped  from  depth  to 
surface.  He  would  not  release  her  regard — not 
even  when  the  glow  that  succeeded  the  numbness 
of  the  thrill  stole  from  limb  to  limb,  and  suffused 
her  face,  and  all  the  forceful  maiden  nature 
battled  with  the  magnetic  compulsion.  The 
sough  of  the  spring  breeze  in  the  flower-laden 
branches,  likened  by  Hester  to  the  whispering 
surf  upon  island  sands;  the  humming  bees  and 
twittering  birds ;  the  sun-warmed  scent  of  apple 
blooms  and  white  clover  and  the  sweetbrier  grow- 
ing just  without  the  canopy  of  the  king  apple 
tree ;  the  faint  flush  of  light  strained  through 
locked  masses  of  blossoms,  were,  for  those 
supreme  moments,  all  the  world — except  that  this 
man — God's  most  glorious  creation — spoke  to 
her,  although  his  lips  were  moveless,  and  that  the 
stir  of  a  new  and  divine  life  within  her  heart 
replied. 

"I  am  sure  the  time  must  be  up!"  said  May 
yawningly.  "Poor  Hester  is  fast  asleep,  and  my 
tongue  aches  with  holding  it  so  long." 

Hester  unclosed  her  eyes  slowly,  smiled 
dreamily,  and  essayed  no  denial.  March  was  on 
his  knees,  collecting  brushes  and  tubes  into  his 
color  [box.  Hetty  was  folding  a  rug  so  much 
too  heavy  for  her  wrists  that  May  sprang  to  seize 
the  other  end. 

"Why — are  you  chilly?  Your  fingers  are  like 
ice!"  she  exclaimed,  as  their  hands  met.  "And 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  83 

how  you  shiver!  I  am  afraid  we  have  been  self- 
ish in  keeping  you  out  of  doors  so  long!" 

The  ague  shook  the  mirth  out  of  the  nervous 
laugh  with  which  Hetty  answered : 

"Now  that  the  strain  of  the  week's  suspense 
and  sittings  is  over,  and  the  result  of  our  joint 
labors  is  a  pronounced  success,  I  am  a  little  tired. 
The  spring  is  a  trifle  crude  as  yet,  too,"  she  sub- 
joined, speaking  more  glibly  than  usual.  "By 
the  time  the  sun  reaches  the  tops  of  the  trees,  we 
begin  to  feel  the  dew  fall.  Hester,  we  must  go 
in!" 

March  took  the  handle  of  the  wheeled  chair 
from  her.  "That  is  too  heavy  for  you  on  the 
thick  grass.  May,  will  you  abide  by  the  stuff 
until  I  come  back?" 

On  every  other  afternoon,  Homer  had  come 
down  at  five  o'clock  to  roll  the  carriage  up  the 
ascent.  Hester  lay  among  the  pillows,  her  eyes 
again  shut,  and  the  reflection  of  the  happy  secret 
upon  her  face.  Hetty  walked  mutely  beside  her. 

March  liked  the  fine  reserve  that  kept  her 
silent  and  forbade  her  to  risk  another  encounter 
of  glances.  She  was  all  womanly,  refined  in 
every  instinct.  Crushing  the  young  grasses  with 
foot  and  wheel,  and  bowing  under  the  stooping 
branches,  they  made  their  way  to  the  gate  in  the 
parsonage  fence.  Homer  shambled  hurriedly 
down  the  walk  to  meet  them. 

"Now" —  he   stammered,   laying   hold   of   the 


84  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

propeller  of  the  chair — "I'd  'a  bin  yere  sooner, 
but  I  had  to  go  downtown  on  an  arrant " 

"That's  all  right !"  said  March  good-naturedly. 
"I  was  happy  to  bring  Miss  Wayt  up  the  hill. 
Good-by,  Queen  Mab !  May  I  have  the  honor  of 
taking  you  to  my  home  studio  to  see  the  picture 
when  it  is  varnished  and  framed?" 

She  replied  by  a  gentle  inclination  of  the  head, 
and  the  same  joyous  ghost  of  a  smile.  She  was 
like  one  lost  in  a  dream,  so  deep  and  delicious 
that  he  will  not  move  or  speak  for  fear  of  awaken- 
ing. 

March  raised  his  hat  and  stood  aside  to  let  the 
carriage  pass.  As  Hetty  would  have  followed,  his 
offered  hand  barred  the  way. 

"One  moment,  please!"  he  sajd,  in  grave  sim- 
plicity. "I  have  to  thank  you  for  some  very 
happy  hours.  May  I,  also,  thank  you  for  the 
hope  of  many  more?  I  should  be  sorry  if  our 
acquaintanceship  were  to  fall  to  the  level  of  social 
conventionality.  We  have  always  been  intimate 
with  our  pastor's  family,  and  mean,  unless  forbid- 
den, to  remain  true  to  time-honored  precedent." 

If  he  had  alarmed  her  just  now,  he  would  prove 
that  he  was  no  love-smitten  boy,  but  a  purpose- 
ful man,  who  understood  himself  and  was  obedient 
to  law  and  order.  Hetty  gathered  herself  to- 
gether to  emulate  his  tranquillity. 

"I  especially  want  to  thank  you,  out  of  her 
hearing,  for  the  great  kindness  you  and  your  sis- 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  85 

ter  have  showed  to  my  dear  little  invalid.  She 
will  never  forget  it,  nor  shall  I.  It  has  been  the 
happiest  week  of  her  life.  I  think  but  for  your 
offer  to  lend  her  books,  and  Miss  Gilchrist's 
promise  to  keep  on  with  her  painting  lessons,  that 
the  end  of  our  sittings  would  be  a  serious  afflic- 
tion to  her.  Please  say  this  from  me  to  Miss  Gil- 
christ,  also.  Good-evening!" 

He  ran  lightly  back  to  May  and  "the  stuff." 
He  had  not  obtained  permission  to  call,  but 
neither  was  it  refused.  He  liked  dignity  in  a 
woman.  As  he  phrased  it,  "it  furred  the  peach 
and  dusted  the  plum."  He  was  entirely  willing 
to  do  all  the  wooing. 

May  innocently  applied  the  last  touch  to  his 
unruffled  spirit  in  their  family  confabulation  in 
the  library  that  evening. 

"That  Hetty  Ailing  is  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful girls  I  ever  met !"  she  asseverated  emphatic- 
ally. 

"In  what  respect?"  inquired  her  judicial  parent. 

"She  has  individuality — and  of  the  best  sort. 
She  is  intelligent,  frank,  spirited,  and  with  these 
sterling  qualities,  as  gentle  as  a  saint  with  poor 
little  Hester,  who  must  be  a  great  care  to  one 
so  young  as  Hetty.  I  mean  to  do  all  I  can  to 
brighten  the  monotonous  existence  the  two  girls 
must  lead.  From  all  I  can  gather  without  asking 
impertinent  questions,  they  are  thrown  almost 
entirely  upon  one  another  for  entertainment  and 


86  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

happiness.  It  is  an  oddly  assorted  household, 
taken  as  a  whole." 

"Talking  of  originality,"  observed  March  after 
a  meditative  puff  or  two,  "you  have  it  in  the 
niece.  It  is  fearfully  sad  that  such  a  mind  should 
be  crowded  into  the  body  of  a  dwarf.  She  dotes 
upon  books.  If  you  will  look  up  a  dozen  or  so 
that  you  think  she — or  Miss  Ailing — would  enjoy, 
I  will  take  them  over  to-morrow." 

His  mother's  attitude  changed  slightly,  al- 
though her  face  was  unaltered.  She  seemed  to 
hold  her  breath  to  listen,  her  whole  inner  being 
to  quicken  into  intensity  of  interest.  March, 
stretched  luxuriously  upon  the  rug,  in  his  usual 
post-prandial  attitude,  felt  her  sigh. 

"Do  I  tire  you,  mother,  dear?"  he  asked. 

"Never,  my  boy!" 

Nor  ever  would,  although  within  the  hour  and 
with  a  throe  that  tested  her  reserves  of  fortitude, 
she  had  surrendered  the  first  place  in  his  heart. 
The  blow  was  unexpected.  The  orchard  paint- 
ings and  her  children's  interest  in  them  had 
seemed  entirely  professional  to  her.  March  had 
sketched  dozens  of  girls,  and  fallen  in  love  with 
none  of  them.  With  all  his  warmth  of  heart  and 
ready  sensibilities,  he  was  not  susceptible  to  femi- 
nine charms.  As  a  boy,  he  became  enamored  of 
art  too  early  to  have  other  flames.  Perhaps,  with 
fatuity  common  to  mothers,  she  reasoned  that 
with  such  a  home  as  his  he  was  not  likely  to  be 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  87 

tempted  by  visions  of  domestic  bliss  under  a  vine 
and  fig  tree  yet  to  be  planted.  It  is  a  grievous 
problem  to  the  maternal  intellect  why  men  who 
have  the  best  mothers  and  sisters  living  and  eager 
to  spoil  them  with  much  serving,  should  be  the 
earliest  to  marry  out  of  certainty  into  hazardous 
uncertainty. 

When  the  judge  had  gone  to  a  political  meet- 
ing, and  May  to  entertain  visitors  in  the  drawing 
room,  Mrs.  Gilchrist  divined  the  purport  of  the 
impending  communication.  Her  fair  hand  grew 
clammy  in  toying  with  the  short  chestnut  curls; 
in  the  silence  through  which  she  could  hear  the 
tinkle  of  the  fountain  on  the  lawn,  she  wet  her 
dry  lips  that  they  might  not  be  unready  with  lov- 
ing rejoinder  to  what  her  idol  was  preparing  to 
say.  She  knew  March  too  well  to  expect  con- 
ventional preamble.  He  was  always  direct  and 
genuine.  She  did  not  start  when  he  spoke  at 
length. 

"Mamma,  darling." 

"Yes,  my  son." 

"It  has  come  to  me  at  last,  and  in  earnest." 

"I  surmised  as  much."  It  was  plain  to  see 
where  he  got  his  dislike  of  circuitous  methods. 
"Is  it  Mrs.  Wayt's  sister?" 

"It  is  Hetty  Ailing.  She  is  a  true,  noble 
woman.  I  shall  try  to  win  her  love.  Should  I 
succeed,  you  will  love  her  for  my  sake,  will  you 
not  ?" 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

"You  know  that  I  will.  But  this  is  sudden. 
You  have  known  her  less  than  a  fortnight.  And, 
dear,  it  is  out  of  the  fullness  of  my  love  that  I 
speak — I  am  afraid  that  the  family  is  a  peculiar 
one.  Be  prudent,  my  son.  You  are  young,  and 
life  is  long.  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should  make 
a  mistake  here.  Should  this  young  girl  be  all 
that  you  think — even  all  that  I  hope  to  find  in 
her — it  is  best  not  to  force  her  decision.  Give 
her  time  to  study  you.  Take  time,  and  make 
opportunities  to  study  her.  I  ask  it  because  you 
bear  the  names  of  two  honorable  men — your 
father  and  mine — and  because  it  would  break 
your  mother's  heart  to  see  her  only  boy  un- 
happy." 

He  drew  her  hand  to  his  lips — the  high-bred 
hand  that  would  always  be  beautiful — and  held  it 
there  for  a  moment.  She  had  his  pledge. 

Hetty  had  followed  Hester  into  the  house.  It 
was  half-past  five,  and  there  were  strawberries  to 
be  capped  for  the  half-past  six  dinner.  A  parish- 
ioner had  left  a  generous  supply  of  Southern  ber- 
ries at  the  door  while  the  girls  were  out,  and  had 
taken  Mrs.  Wayt  and  her  little  daughters  to  drive. 
Aunt  and  niece  sat  down  at  a  table  drawn  before 
the  dining-room  window  and  fell  to  work.  Hes- 
ter's high  chair  brought  her  tiny,  dexterous  fin- 
gers to  a  level  with  Hetty's.  The  task  went 
forward  with  silent  rapidity,  and  neither  noted 
the  direction  of  her  companion's  eyes.  Hetty 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIPES   SISTER.  89 

seemed  to  her  dazed  self  to  bear  about  with  her 
the  charmed  atmosphere  of  the  nook  under  the 
king  apple  tree. 

The  mingled  hum  of  bees  and  sighing  wind  and 
bird-note  sounded  in  her  ears  like  the  confused 
song  of  a  seashell.  Now  and  then,  a  ray  from 
hazel  eyes  flashed  athwart  her  sight.  Brain  and 
heart  were  in  a  tumult  that  terrified  her  into 
questioning  her  identity.  The  "winged  boat"of 
fancy  was  a  novel  craft  to  our  woman  of  affairs. 
As  novel  was  the  self-absorption  that  made  her 
unobservant  of  Hester's  brilliant  eyes  and  musing 
smile.  As  the  dainty  fingers,  just  reddened  on 
the  tips  by  the  fruit,  picked  off  and  cast  aside  the 
green  "caps,"  Hester's  regards  were  fixed  upon 
the  Anak  of  the  orchard,  and  Hetty's  strayed  con- 
tinually to  the  same  point.  Both  looked  over 
and  beyond  a  figure  creeping  on  all-fours  down 
the  central  alley  of  the  broad,  shallow  garden, 
occasionally  crouching  low,  as  if  to  crop  the  grass 
of  the  borders. 

Perry,  studying  his  Latin  grammar  in  his 
mother's  chamber  above,  awoke  the  taciturn 
dreamers  by  a  shout : 

"Hello,  Tony!  what  are  you  doing  there?" 
He  turned  his  head,  not  his  body,  to  reply : 
"Now — jes'  lookin'  for  somethin'  I  dropped." 
"You'll  drop  yourself  some  day  if  you  don't 
watch  out !" 

Hester's  unmusical  cackle  broke  forth. 


9°  MR.     JVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

"Does  he  look  more  like  a  praying  mantis — or 
Nebuchadnezzar?"  she  said  to  her  co-worker. 
"He  reminds  me  of  a  funny  thing  I  heard  a  man 
say  when  I  was  a  child  of  a  picture  in  my  cate- 
chism of  Nebuchadnezzar  feeding  in  the  pasture 
with  a  herd  of  cows.  He  said  it  was  'a  fine  study 
of  comparative  anatomy.'  The  advantage  would 
be  on  the  side  of  the  cows  if  Tony  were  to  take 
the  field." 

Hetty  could  not  but  laugh  with  her  in  looking 
at  the  grotesque  object. 

"A  short  sight  is  a  real  affliction — poor  fellow ! 
It  is  to  be  hoped  that  he  has  'dropped'  nothing 
valuable.  I  will  take  the  bowl  and  'caps'  into  the 
kitchen  when  I  have  laid  you  down  upon  the 
lounge.  Your  poor  back  must  ache  by  this  time." 

She  lingered  a  few  minutes  in  the  kitchen  to 
make  sure  that  everything  was  in  train  for  dinner. 
Her  practical  knowledge  of  all  departments  of 
housewifery  had  already  gained  for  her  Mary  Ann's 
profound  respect.  The  cook  recommended  by 
Mrs.  Gilchrist  was  a  tidy  body,  a  capital  worker, 
and,  as  she  vaunted  herself,  "one  as  took  an 
intrust  in  any  family  she  lived  in." 

"I  ast  that  pore  innocent  feller  if  there  was  any 
parsley  in  the  gairdin,"  she  chuckled  to  Hetty, 
"an*  he  said  he'd  fetch  me  a  bunch  to  gairnish 
me  dishes.  But  I've  niver  laid  eyes  onto  him 
since.  I  mistrust  he  don't  know  one  yarb  from 
another.  Is  he  'all  there,'  d'ye  think,  mem?" 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  91 

"He  is  not  quick,  but  he  is  not  an  idiot,  by 
any  means,"  returned  his  patroness.  "He  is  a 
faithful,  honest  fellow,  always  thankful  for  a  kind 
word,  very  industrious,  and  perfectly  truthful. 
We  think  a  great  deal  of  Homer.  I  saw  him  in 
the  garden  just  now,  looking  for  the  parsley.  I 
will  find  him  and  send  him  in  with  it.  Don't 
sugar  the  berries ;  we  do  that  on  the  table.  Keep 
them  in  a  cool  place  until  they  are  wanted  for 
dessert." 

She  strolled  down  the  garden  walk,  singing 
low  to  herself  the  catching  tune  to  which  she  had 
set  the  words  the  Gilchrists  had  overheard  the 
Sunday  night  of  their  first  call: 

O  Life  and  Love  !     O  happy  throng 
Of  thoughts  whose  only  speech  is  song. 
O  heart  of  man  !  canst  thou  not  be 
Blithe  as  the  air  is,  and  as  free  ? 

Homer  had  vanished  from  the  main  alley  that 
led  directly  to  the  orchard,  yet  she  walked  on 
down  the  whole  length  of  it.  Blazing  tulips  had 
supplanted  faded  hyacinths;  the  faint  green 
globes  of  snowball  bushes  were  bleaching  hourly 
in  May  sunshine  and  breeze;  the  lilac  hedge,  lin- 
ing the  post-and-board  fence  at  the  bottom  of  the 
parsonage  lot,  was  set  thick  with  purple  and 
mauve  and  white  spikes. 

"Such  a  dear,  old-fashioned  garden!"  Hetty 
said,  half  aloud.  "It  reminds  me  of  the  one  we 


92  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

had  at  home !"  Leaning  upon  the  orchard  gate 
she  abandoned  herself  to  reverie.  The  robins' 
whistle  in  the  apple  tree  was  low  and  tender; 
fleecy  clouds,  drifting  toward  the  west,  began  to 
blush  on  the  sunward  side,  the  blending  odors  of 
a  thousand  flowers  hung  in  the  air.  The  word 
"home"  took  thought  back — thoughts  of  the  only 
one  she  had  ever  had,  and  the  mother  whose 
death  lost  it  to  her.  Since  then  she  had  stood 
alone,  and  helped  weaker  people  to  stand.  A 
great  longing  for  rest  in  a  love  she  could  claim 
as  all  hers  drove  tears  to  her  eyes.  The  longing 
was  not  new,  but  the  hope  that  softened  it  was. 
Hitherto,  it  had  been  linked  with  her  mother's 
image  only.  She  wanted  her  now,  as  much,  and 
more  than  ever  before,  but  that  she  might  sym- 
pathize with  what  she  began  to  comprehend 
tremblingly.  Her  mother  would  enter  into  her 
trembling  and  her  joy.  Especially  if  she  had 
seen  what  Hetty  never  could  describe — a  look 
the  memory  of  which  renewed  the  shy,  delicious 
shame  expressed  in  the  blush  March  had  pitied, 
while  rejoicing  in  the  sight  of  it. 

Such  a  boundless,  beautiful  world  opened  to 
her  while  she  stood  there,  looking  down  the  blos- 
soming vistas  of  the  orchard— solitary,  yet  com- 
forted !  She  would  give  rein  to  imagination  for 
that  little  while.  It  could  harm  no  one,  even  if  it 
were  all  a  chimera  that  would  not  outlast  blossom- 
time.  And  must  it  be  that  ?  What  had  glori- 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  93 

fied  other  desolate  women's  lives  might  bless 
hers.  Spring  comes  to  every  year,  however  long 
and  cruel  may  have  been  the  winter.  Recalling 
March's  prophecy  of  future  association,  she  dared 
dwell  upon  visions  of  his  visits,  of  the  pleasant 
familiar  talks  that  would  make  them  better 
acquainted ;  of  the  books  they  would  read  and 
discuss;  of  the  pictures  he  would  paint,  with  her 
looking  on. 

"I  am  not  beautiful  or  accomplished,"  she  said 
humbly.  "But  I  would  make  myself  more 
worthy  of  him.  I  am  young  and  apt.  I  would 
make  no  mistakes  that  could  mortify  him.  He 
should  never  be  ashamed  of  me,  and,  oh !"  she 
stretched  her  arms  involuntarily,  as  if  to  draw  the 
unseen  nearer  to  her  heart — "how  faithfully  I 
would  serve  him,  forever  and  forever." 

The  flight  of  fancy  had  indeed  been  fast  and 
far! 

The  tinkle  of  the  dinner  bell  in  Mary  Ann's 
vigorous  hand  ended  the  fond  foolishness 
abruptly.  It  was  the  careful  housewife  who 
asked  herself  with  a  guilty  start:  "What  has  be- 
come of  Homer  and  the  parsley?" 

Her  first  step  in  returning  was  upon  something 
hard.  She  picked  it  up. 

Homer  met  his  young  mistress  at  the  back 
door.  His  weak,  furtive  eyes  were  uneasy  before 
she  accosted  him.  At  her  incisive  tone  the  red 


94  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

rims  closed  entirely  over  them,  his  hands,  grimy 
with  groping  in  gravel  and  turf,  fumbled  with 
one  another,  and  his  loose  jaw  dangled. 

"Homer,  you  said  this  afternoon  that  you  had 
been  out  to  do  an  errand.  Do  not  leave  the 
place  again  without  letting  me  know  where  you 
are  going,  and  for  what." 

"Now,"  he  began  wretchedly,  "you  wasn't  at 
home,  'n  I  thought " 

"I  forbid  you  to  think!.  I  will  do  the  thinking 
for  this  family.  You  knew  where  to  find  me.  If 
you  had  not,  you  ought  to  have  waited  until  I 
got  back.  I  mean  what  I  say !" 

He  shifted  miserably  from  one  foot  to  the 
other,  and,  as  she  passed  him,  cleared  his  dry 
throat. 

"Now,  'spose  Mrs.  Wayt  was  to  send  me  out 
in  a  hurry?" 

"Tell  her  that  you  have  my  orders." 

"Now " 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  him,  impatient 
and  contemptuous.  He  had  never  seen  her  so 
angry  with  him  before.  He  plucked  at  the  bat- 
tered brim  of  an  old  military  cap  clutched  in  one 
hand.  He  had  found  it  in  the  garret,  and  be- 
lieved that  it  became  him  rarely. 

"I  was  'bout  to  say  as  I  hed  los'  what  I 
hed " 

"I  found  it.  Not  another  word!  There  is  no 
excuse  for  you !" 


CHAPTER  V. 

MR.  WAYT  availed  himself  of  an  early  oppor- 
tunity to  make  known  his  intention  to  take  no 
vacation  that  year.  He  "doubted  the  expediency 
of  midsummer  absences  on  the  part  of  suburban 
pastors."  While  many  residents  of  Fairhill  went 
abroad  and  to  fashionable  resorts  in  America  in 
July  and  August,  a  respectable  minority  was  con- 
tent to  remain  at  home,  and  some  of  the  vacated 
cottages  and  villas  were  taken  by  city  people,  to 
whom  the  breezy  heights  and  shaded  lawns  were 
a  blessed  relief  from  miles  of  scorching  stone  and 
brick.  He  "foresaw  both  foreign  and  domestic 
missionary  work  in  his  own  parish,"  he  said  to  his 
session  in  explaining  his  plans  for  the  summer 
campaign. 

The  resolution  was  politic  and  strengthened 
his  hold  upon  his  new  charge.  Not  to  be  out- 
done in  generosity,  the  people  redoubled  their 
affectionate  attentions  to  their  spiritual  leader. 
Fruits,  flowers,  and  all  manner  of  table  dainties 
poured  into  the  parsonage ;  carriages  came  daily 
to  offer  airings  to  Mrs.  Wayt  and  the  children, 
and  on  the  Fourth  of  July  a  pretty  phaeton  and 
gentle  horse  were  sent  as  "  a  gift  to  the  mistress 


9<5  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER. 

of  the  manse,"  from  a  dozen  prominent  parish- 
ioners. 

"Verily,  my  cup  runneth  over." 

A  real  tear  dropped  upon  Mr.  Wayt's  shirt 
front  as  he  uttered  it  falteringly  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  holiday.  Yet  he  had  been  repeating  the 
words  at  seasonable  intervals,  and  more  or  less 
moistly,  since  the  hour  of  the  presentation. 

The  Gilchrists  were  upon  the  eastern  veranda, 
the  embowering  vines  of  which  were  beginning  to 
rustle  in  the  sea  breeze.  All  had  arisen  at  the 
pastor's  appearance,  and  March  set  a  chair  for 
him. 

"I  have  thought,  sometimes,  that  I  had  some 
command  of  language,"  he  continued  unctuously. 
"To-day  I  have  no  words  save  those  laid  to  my 
use  by  the  Book  of  books — 'My  cup  runneth 
over.'  It  is  not  one  of  my  foibles  to  expatiate 
upon  the  better  'days  that  are  no  more.'  The 
trick  is  common  and  cheap.  But  to  you,  my 
best  friends,  I  may  venture  to  confide  that  my 
dear  wife  and  I  were  brought  up  in  what  I  have 
since  been  disposed  to  characterize  as  'mistaken 
luxury.'  Since  the  unselfish  saint  joined  her 
blameless  lot  with  mine  she  has  never  had  a  car- 
riage of  her  own  until  to-day.  I  can  receive 
favors  done  to  myself  with  a  manly  show  of  grati- 
tude. Appreciation  of  my  wife  makes  a  baby  of 
me." 

"By  this  time  he  should  be  in  his  second  child- 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  97 

hood,  then,  for  everybody  likes  mamma,"  piped 
a  familiar  voice  from  within  the  French  window 
of  the  library.  Glancing  around  with  a  start  that 
was  not  theatrical,  he  espied  his  eldest  born 
established  at  her  ease  in  a  low  chair.  Her  feet 
were  on  a  stool;  she  wore  a  white  gown,  and 
May's  white  Chudda  shawl  covered  her  from  the 
waist  downward;  her  hair  was  a  mesh  of  gold 
thread  that  drew  to  it  all  the  light  of  the  dying 
day.  May  sat  on  a  cushion  in  the  window  and 
linked  Hester  in  her  comparative  retirement  with 
the  veranda  group. 

"Ah,  little  one,  are  you  there?"  said  the  fond 
parent  playfully.  "I  missed  you  from  the  dinner 
table  and  might  have  guessed  that  you  could  be 
nowhere  but  here." 

Profound  silence  ensued,  and  lasted  for  a  min- 
ute. Hester  shrank  into  herself  with  a  blush 
visible  even  in  the  shadowy  interior. 

March  and  May  had  gone  through  orchard 
and  gardens  to  fetch  her  an  hour  ago.  Her 
father  had  eaten  his  evening  meal  at  the  same 
table  with  her.  In  the  circumstances  there  was 
nothing  to  say,  a  fact  comprehended  by  all 
except  the  unconscious  offender. 

"I  think  Mrs.  Wayt  will  find  her  horse  gentle," 
said  Judge  Gilchrist,  in  formal  civility  too  pal- 
pable to  his  wife. 

With  intelligent  apprehension  of  the  truth,  too 
often  overlooked,  that  confidence  in  the  truth 


98  MR.    WA  Y7"S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

bearer  must  precede  obedience  to  his  message, 
she  desired  that  her  husband  and  son  should  like 
Mr.  Wayt.  To  March  she  had  confessed  her  fear 
that  some  of  the  family  were  "peculiar,"  and  he 
might  infer  the  inclusion  of  the  nominal  head 
in  the  category.  Further  than  this  she  would  not 
go.  With  pious  haste  she  picked  the  fly  out  of 
the  ointment,  and  with  holy  duplicity  beguiled 
others  into  approval  of  the  article  that  bore  the 
trade  mark  of  "The  Church." 

Ah,  the  Church! — in  every  age  and,  despite 
lapses  and  shortcomings  and  stains,  the  custodian 
of  the  Ark  of  God — her  debt  to  such  devout  and 
loyal  souls  as  this  woman's  will  never  be  esti- 
mated until  the  Master  shall  make  acknowledg- 
ment of  it  in  the  great  day  of  reckoning. 

When  the  judge's  turn  of  the  subject  and  the 
"horsey"  talk  that  followed  granted  his  wife 
leisure  to  reconsider  the  matter,  she  discovered 
that  there  was  no  cause  for  discomfiture.  Mr. 
Wayt  was  absent-minded,  as  were  all  students 
of  deep  things.  Only,  her  husband  was  quick  of 
sight  and  wit,  and  neither  March  nor  May  had 
much  to  say,  of  late,  of  the  new  preacher  who 
was  doing  such  excellent  work  in  the  congrega- 
tion. March  went  regularly  to  church  and  sat 
beside  his  mother  through  prayer  and  hymn  and 
sermon,  and  afterward  refrained  from  adverse 
criticism.  This  may  have  been  out  of  respect  to 
the  girl  he  hoped  to  make  his  wife.  Yet  she  had 


MR.     WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  99 

dared  fancy  that  the  graver  tenderness  of  his 
behavior  to  herself  and  the  unusual  periods  of 
thoughtfulness  that  occurred  in  their  conversa- 
tions had  to  do  with  the  dawning  of  spiritual  life 
in  his  soul.  However  much  certain  of  Mr.  Wayt's 
mannerisms  might  offend  her  taste,  there  was  no 
question  of  his  ability  and  eloquence.  That  these 
might  be  the  divinely  appointed  nets  for  the 
ingathering  into  the  Church  of  her  best  beloved 
was  a  burden  that  weighted  every  petition. 

March  had  not  spoken  openly  of  his  love  for 
Hetty  Ailing  since  the  evening  on  which  he  first 
avowed  it  to  his  mother,  but,  in  her  opinion,  there 
was  nothing  significant  in  this  reserve.  The  Gil- 
christs  were  delicate  in  their  dealings  with  one 
another,  never  asking  inconvenient  questions,  or 
pushing  communication  beyond  the  voluntary 
stage.  If  May  divined  the  drift  of  her  brother's 
affections,  she  did  not  intimate  it  by  word  or  look. 
When  the  fruit  of  confidence  was  ripe  it  would 
be  dropped  into  her  lap.  She  did  note  what  Mrs. 
Gilchrist  had  not  the  opportunity  of  seeing — how 
seldom  Hetty  had  leisure  to  receive  March  or  his 
sister.  She  was  getting  ready  the  wardrobe  of 
the  twin  boys,  who  were  to  go  to  boarding  school 
the  1st  of  October.  Through  Hester's  talk  May 
had  learned  incidentally  that  the  Wayts  employed 
neither  dressmaker  nor  seamstress. 

"Hetty  is  miraculously  skillful  with  her 
needle,"  was  Hester's  way  of  putting  it,  "and 


loo  MR,    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

so  swift  that  it  would  drive  her  wild  to  see  her 
work  done  by  the  'young  lady  who  goes  out  by 
the  day.'  I  work  buttonholes  and  hem  ruffles 
and  such  like,  and  mamma  gives  her  all  the  time 
she  can  spare  from  baby — and  other  things.  But 
our  Hetty  is  the  motor  of  the  household  machine. 
I  don't  believe  there  is  another  like  her  in  the 
world.  The  mold  in  which  she  was  cast  was 
broken." 

She  had  said  this  in  a  chat  held  with  her 
favorite  this  evening  while  the  others  were  en- 
gaged with  other  themes  outside  of  the  window. 
May  encouraged  her  to  go  on  by  remarking: 

"You  love  her  as  dearly  as  if  she  were  really 
your  sister,  don't  you?" 

'"As  well!'  The  love  I  have  for  mother,  sis- 
ters, and  brothers  is  a  drop  in  the  ocean  compared 
with  what  I  feel  for  Hetty !  See  here,  Miss 
May!"  showing  her  perfectly  formed  hands. 
"These  were  as  helpless  as  my  feet.  Hetty 
rubbed  me,  bathed  me,  flexed  the  muscles  for  an 
hour  every  morning  and  an  hour  every  night. 
She  tempted  me  to  eat ;  obliged  me  to  take  exer- 
cise ;  carried  me  up  and  down  stairs,  and  sat  with 
me  in  her  arms  out  of  doors  until  she  had  saved 
fifty  dollars  out  of  her  allowance  to  have  my 
chair  built.  Hetty  educated  me — made  me  over! 
She  is  my  brain,  the  blood  of  my  heart — I  don't 
believe  I  should  have  a  soul  but  for  Hetty!" 

The  warm  water  stood  in  May's  eyes.     But  the 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  roi 

weak  voice,  thrilling  with  excitement,  reminded 
her  of  the  danger  of  an  excess  of  feeling  upon  the 
disjointed  system.  She  spoke  lightly: 

"Oh,  your  father  would  have  looked  out  for 
your  soul !" 

"  Would  he  ?" 

The  accent  of  intensest  acrimony  shocked  the 
listener,  corroborated  as  it  was  by  the  bitterness 
of  scorn  that  wrung  the  small  face. 

In  a  second  Hester  caught  herself  up. 

"They  say  that  cobblers'  wives  go  barefoot. 
Ministers  have  so  little  time  to  spare  for  the  souls 
of  their  families  that  their  children  are  paganed. 
If  it  wasn't  for  their  wives  and  their  wives'  sisters, 
the  forlorn  creatures  would  not  know  who  made 
them." 

It  was  a  plausible  evasion,  but  it  did  not  efface 
from  May's  mind  the  disdainful  outburst  and 
the  black  look  that  went  with  it.  Both  seemed 
so  unnatural,  even  revolting,  to  a  girl  whose 
father  stood  with  her  as  the  synonym  for  nobility 
of  manhood,  that  she  could  not  get  away  from 
the  recollection  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  This 
was  before  Mr.  Wayt's  arrival,  and  sharpened 
May's  appreciation  of  the  little  by-play  between 
Hester  and  her  parent. 

His  departure  at  nine  o'clock  was  succeeded  by 
Hester's  at  ten,  and,  as  was  their  habit,  March  and 
his  sister  took  her  home  by  the  path  across  the 
orchard.  The  night  was  sultry ;  the  moon  lay 


102  MR.    WAYT'S    WIPES  SISTER. 

languid  under  swathes  of  gray  mist.  She  looked 
warm,  and  the  stars  near  her  faint  and  tired. 
Low  down  upon  the  horizon  were  flashes  of  purple 
sheet  lightning.  The  town  had  kept  the  Fourth 
patriotically,  and  the  odor  of  burned  paper  and 
gunpowder  tainted  the  stirless  air. 

"The  grass  is  perfectly  dry,"  said  May,  stop- 
ping to  lay  her  hand  upon'  the  mown  sward. 
"That  should  be  a  sign  of  a  shower." 

"There  is  always  rain  on  the  night  of  the  Fourth 
of  July,"  returned  March  abstractedly. 

Hester  said  not  a  word.  As  she  looked  up  at 
the  sick  moon  her  eyes  showed  large  and  dark; 
her  face  was  corpselike  in  the  wan  radiance. 
She  was  weary,  and  she  had  been  indiscreet.  She 
could  not  sleep  without  confessing  to  Hetty  her 
lapse  of  temper  and  tongue,  and  Hetty  had 
enough  to  bear  already.  She  had  not  been  so 
strong  and  bright  as  was  her  wont  for  a  month 
past.  It  might  be  only  excessive  drudgery  over 
sewing  machine  and  household  duties,  but  she 
looked  fagged  and  sad  at  times.  The  phaeton 
and  horse  would  benefit  mamma  and  the  chil- 
dren— when  the  vacant  place  beside  the  mistress 
of  the  Manse  was  not  occupied  by  their  lord  and 
master.  He  got  the  lion's  share  of  every  luxury. 
Poor  Hester's  conscience  and  heart  were  raw,  and 
the  heat  of  the  wounds  inflamed  her  imagination. 
The  evening  at  the  judge's  had  not  rested  her. 
That  was  strange,  or  would  have  been  had  not  the 


MR.     IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  103 

long,  black  shadow  of  her  father  lain  across  the 
memory  of  it. 

The  back  door  of  the  parsonage  stood  wide 
open,  and  the  house  was  so  still  that,  as  March 
stooped  to  lift  Hester  from  her  carriage  at  the 
foot  of  the  steps,  he  caught  the  sound  of  what 
was  scarcely  louder  than  an  intermittent  sigh  in 
the  upper  story,  but  continuous  as  a  violent  fit  of 
weeping.  The  arm  that  lay  over  his  shoulder 
twitched  convulsively ;  Hester  shuddered  sharply, 
then  laughed  aloud : 

"Oh,  Mr.  Gilchrist !  I  thought  I  was  falling! 
It  is  too  bad  to  put  you  to  all  this  trouble.  I 
hope  Tony  hasn't  blown  himself  up.  He  ought 
to  have  come  for  me." 

"Didn't  I  promise  your  mother  to  bring  you 
home  safely?"  said  March  reassuringly.  And,  as 
they  reached  the  hall — "May  I  carry  you  up- 
stairs?" 

The  offer  seemed  to  terrify  her. 

"Oh,  no,  no!  Just  lay  me  on  the  settee  there! 
Somebody  will  be  down  directly.  Don't  trouble 
yourself  to  bring  the  chair  in.  Tony  will  attend 
to  that.  Thank  you  !  Good-night,  Mr.  Gilchrist ! 
Good-night,  Miss  May!" 

While  she  hurried  all  this  out,  a  stumble  on  the 
back  stairs  was  the  precursor  of  Homer's  appear- 
ance in  the  dim  recesses  of  the  hall.  He  alighted 
at  the  bottom  of  the  flight  on  all-fours,  picked 
himself  up  and  shambled  forward,  one  hand  on 


104  MR.     IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

his  head,  the  other  on  his  elbow,  an  imbecile  grin 
spreading  his  jaws. 

"Now,  I  a'most  broke  me  nake  on  them  stairs !" 

March  had  deposited  Hester  upon  the  hall 
lounge,  and  although  perceiving  her  anxiety  to 
get  rid  of  him,  hesitated  to  commit  her  to  the 
keeping  of  a  man  who  was,  apparently,  but  half 
awake. 

"Let  me  carry  you  up !"  he  insisted  to  Hester. 
"He  may  fall  again." 

"Oh,  Tony  is  all  right!"  in  the  same  strained 
key  as  before.  "He  never  lets  anything  but  him- 
self drop." 

A  rustle  and  swift  step  sounded  above  stairs. 
Someone  ran  down.  It  was  Hetty.  Her  white 
wrapper  was  begirt  with  a  ribbon  loosely  knotted  ; 
her  rust-brown  hair  was  breaking  from  constraint 
and  tumbling  upon  her  shoulders. 

March's  first  pained  thought  was:  "She  knew 
I  would  be  in,  yet  did  not  mean  to  see  me  again 
to-night !" 

A  second  glance  at  the  colorless  face  and  wild 
eyes  awakened  unselfish  concern. 

"What  is  the  matter?  Who  is  hurt?"  she 
queried  anxiously.  Hester's  reply  was  a  shriek 
of  laughter. 

"Nothing!  Nobody!  Only  Tony  has  broken 
his  neck  again,  and  Mr.  Gilchrist  did  not  know 
that  it  is  an  hourly  occurrence  in  our  family  life, 
so  he  insisted  upon  taking  me  upstairs  himself." 


MR.     WAYTS    WIFE'S  SISTER.  105 

"Mr.  Gilchrist  is  very  kind!"  Hetty's  tone  was 
deadly  mechanical;  in  speaking  she  looked  at 
nobody.  "I  sent  Homer  down  when  I  heard  you 
coming.  I  am  sorry  he  was  not  in  time." 

May  had  joined  the  group. 

"I  hope,"  she  said  in  her  cheery  way,  "that 
none  of  the  rest  of  your  household  have  come  to 
grief  to-day?" 

Hetty  turned  to  her  with  eyes  that  questioned 
silently — almost  defiantly. 

"I  mean,  of  course,  did  the  boys  bring  home 
the  proper  quantum  of  eyes  and  fingers?" 

"Yes!  oh,  yes!  thank  you!  they  went  to  bed 
tired,  but  whole,  I  believe." 

"That  is  fortunate,  but  remarkable  for  a  Fourth 
of  July  report,"  said  March.  "Come,  May! 
Good-night !" 

He  had  seen,  without  comprehending,  the  in- 
tense relief  that  flooded  the  girl's  visage  at  his 
sister's  second  sentence,  also  that  she  was  fever- 
ishly anxious  to  have  them  go.  And  the  sound 
above  stairs,  hushed  by  Hester's  shrill  tones — was 
it  low,  anguished  weeping?  The  mourner  was 
not  Hetty,  yet  her  dry  eyes  were  full  of  misery. 
His  big,  soft  heart  ached  with  futile  sympathy. 
By  what  undiscovered  track  could  he  fare  near 
enough  to  her  to  make  her  conscious  of  this  and 
of  a  love  the  greatness  of  which  ought  to  help  her 
bear  her  load  of  trouble? 

"Hetty  looks  dreadfully!"  broke  out  May  at 


106  MR.     WAYT'S    WIPES  SISTER. 

the  garden  gate.  "She  is  worked  and  worried  to 
death !  I  am  amazed  that  Mrs.  Wayt  allows  it. 
To  reduce  a  girl  like  that  to  the  level  of  a  house- 
hold drudge  is  barbarous.  She  has  no  time  for 
society  or  recreation  of  any  kind.  It  is  toil,  toil, 
toil,  from  morning  until  night.  Mary  Ann — the 
cook  mamma  got  for  them — says  she  'never  saw- 
such  another  young  lady  for  sweetness  and  kind- 
ness to  servants  as  Miss  Hetty/  but  that  she 
'carries  all  the  house  on  them  straight  little  shoul- 
ders of  hern.'  Hester  tells  the  same  story  in  bet- 
ter English." 

She  repeated  what  she  had  heard  that  evening. 

March  stopped  to  listen  under  the  king  apple 
tree,  where  he  had  begun  to  love  the  subject  of 
the  eulogy.  While  May  declaimed  he  reached 
up  for  a  cluster  of  green  apples  and  leaves  and 
pulled  it  to  pieces,  his  face  grave,  his  fingers 
lingering. 

"Heaven  knows,  May" — she  was  not  prepared 
for  the  emotion  with  which  it  was  uttered — "that 
I  would  risk  my  life  to  make  hers  happy.  I 
hoped  once — but  you  see  for  yourself  how  she 
avoids  me.  I  could  fancy  sometimes  that  she  is 
afraid  of  me !" 

"Perhaps  she  is  afraid  of  herself." 

He  looked  up  eagerly. 

"Is  that  a  chance  remark?  You  women  under- 
stand one  another.  Have  you  seen  any- 
thing  " 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  107 

"Nothing  I  could  or  would  repeat,  my  dear 
boy !  But  there  is  a  mystery  somewhere,  and  I 
can't  believe  it  is  the  phenomenon  of  such  a  sen- 
sible girl's  failure  to  appreciate  my  brother.  May 
I  say  something,  March,  dear?" 

"Whatever  you  like — after  what  has  gone  be- 
fore r 

"Maybe  it  ought  not  to  have  gone  before — or 
after,  either.  For,  brother,  this  is  not  just  the 
sort  of  connection  that  you  should  form.  To 
speak  plainly,  you  might  look  higher.  'Strike — 
but  hear!'  Hetty  is  all  that  I  have  said,  and 
more.  But  there  is  a  Bohemian  flavor  about  the 
household.  We  will  whisper  it — even  at  half- 
past  ten  o'clock  at  night,  in  the  orchard — and 
never  hint  it  to  'the  people,'  or  to  mamma !  They 
are  nomads  from  first  to  last — why,  I  cannot  say. 
They  have  lived  everywhere,  and  nowhere  long. 
Mrs.  Wayt  is  a  refined  gentlewoman,  but  her  eyes 
are  sad  and  anxious.  You  know  how  fond  I  am 
of  Hester,  poor  child !  Still  a  nameless  some- 
thing clings  to  them  as  a  whole — not  quite  a 
taint,  but  a  tang!  Especially  to  Mr.  Wayt. 
There !  it  is  out !  Let  us  hope  the  apple  trees 
are  discreet !  I  distrust  him,  March  !  He  doesn't 
ring  true.  He  is  always  on  pose.  He  is  a  sancti- 
monious (which  doesn't  mean  sanctified)  self- 
lover.  Such  men  ought  to  remain  celibate." 

March  tried  to  laugh,  but  not  successfully. 

"I  dissent  from  and  agree  to  nothing  you  say. 


io8  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

But "     He  waited  so  long  that  May  finished 

the  sentence  for  him. 

"But  you  love  Hetty?" 

"Yes!  She  suits  me,  May!  As  no  other 
woman  ever  did.  As  no  other  woman  ever  will. 
I  have  tried  to  reason  myself  out  of  the  persua- 
sion, but  get  deeper  in.  She  suits  me — every  fiber 
and  every  impulse  of  my  nature.  I  seem  to  have 
known  her  forever  and  always  to  have  missed 
her." 

With  all  her  pride  in  her  family  and  ambition 
for  her  brother  May  had  a  romantic  side  to  her 
character.  Had  she  liked  Hetty  less,  she  would 
yet  have  pledged  her  support  to  the  lover.  She 
told  him  this  while  they  strolled  homeward,  and 
then  around  and  around  the  graveled  drive  in  front 
of  the  Gilchrist  portico,  and  had,  in  return,  the 
full  story  of  his  passion. 

"When  I  marry,  my  wife  will  have  all  there  is 
of  me,"  he  had  said,  long  ago,  to  his  sister. 

He  reminded  her  of  it  to-night. 

"She  is  not  a  brilliant  society  woman.  Not 
beautiful,  perhaps.  I  am  not  a  competent  judge 
of  that  at  this  date.  She  has  not  the  prestige  of 
wealth  or  station.  But  she  is  my  counterpart." 

He  always  returned  to  that. 

When  his  sister  had  gone  into  the  house  he 
tarried  on  the  lawn  with  his  cigar.  What  fresh- 
ness the  fierce  sun  had  left  to  the  air  was  all  to 
be  found  out  of  doors.  As  the  gray  swathes  con- 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER.  109 

tinued  to  smother  the  light  out  of  the  moon  the 
heat  became  more  oppressive.  The  gravel  walks 
were  hot  to  his  feet ;  the  bricks  of  the  house 
radiated  caloric.  With  a  half-laugh  at  the  whim, 
he  entered  the  now  silent  and  darkened  dwelling, 
sought  and  procured  a  carriage  rug,  and  pulling 
the  door  shut  after  him,  whistled  for  Thor,  and 
retraced  his  steps  to  the  orchard.  He  spread  the 
rug  upon  the  grass  kept  cool  by  the  down-leaning 
branches  of  the  arbor  and  cast  himself  upon  it. 
He  meant  to  make  a  night  of  it. 

"I  have  camped  out,  many  a  July  night,  in  far 
less  luxurious  quarters,"  he  muttered.  "And  this 
place  is  sacred." 

When  the  mosquitoes  began  to  hum  in  his  ears, 
he  lighted  another  cigar.  He  was  the  more  glad 
to  do  it,  as  he  fancied,  once  in  a  while,  that  the 
young  apples  or  the  wilting  leaves  had  a  peculiar 
and  not  pleasant  odor,  as  of  some  gum  or  essence, 
that  hung  long  in  the  atmosphrere.  He  had 
noticed  it  when  he  pulled  down  a  branch  to  get 
the  spray  he  had  torn  apart,  while  May  talked. 
The  air  was  full  of  foreign  scents  to-night,  and 
this  might  be  an  olfactory  imagination. 

As  twelve  o'clock  struck  from  the  nearest 
church  spire,  he  was  staring  into  the  formless 
shadows  overhead  and  living  over  the  apple-blos- 
som week,  the  symphony  in  pink  and  white.  The 
young  robins  were  full  fledged  and  had  flitted 
from  the  parent  nest.  The  young  hope,  born  of 


no  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

what  stood  with  him  for  all  the  poetry  of  his  six- 
and-twenty  years  of  life,  spread  strong  wings  to- 
ward a  future  he  was  not  to  enjoy  alone. 

Thor  was  uneasy.  He  should  have  found  his 
share  of  the  rug  laid  upon  elastic  turf  as  com- 
fortable as  the  mat  on  the  piazza  floor,  which  was 
his  usual  bed,  yet  he  arose  to  his  haunches,  once 
and  again,  and,  although  at  his  master's  touch  or 
word,  he  lay  down  obediently,  the  outline  of  his 
big  head,  as  March  could  make  it  out  in  the 
gloom,  was  alert. 

"What  is  it,  old  boy?"  said  he  presently. 
"What  is  going  on?" 

Thor  whined  and  beat  the  ground  with  his  tail, 
both  tentatively,  as  asking  information  in  return. 

In  raising  his  own  head  from  the  yielding  and 
soft  rustling  grasses,  March  became  aware  of  a 
sound,  iterative  and  teasing,  that  vexed  the  lan- 
guid night.  It  was  like  the  ticking  of  a  clock,  or 
of  an  uncommonly  strenuous  deathwatch.  While 
he  listened  it  seemed  to  gather  force  and  become 
rhythmic. 

"Click!  click!  clack!  click!  click!  clack  1 
clicketty  click!  clicketty,  clicketty  clack!  click! 
click!  click!  clicketty  clack  !  ting!" 

Somebody  was  working  a  typewriter  on  this 
stifling  night,  presumably  by  artificial  light,  in  the 
most  aristocratic  quarter  of  Fairhill. 

Thor  knew  the  incident  to  be  unprecedented. 
The  rhythmic  iteration  made  his  master  nervous; 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER.  Hi 

the  sharp  warning  of  the  bell  at  the  end  of 
each  line  pierced  his  ear  like  the  touch  of  a  fine 
wire. 

He  sat  up  and  looked  about  him. 

An  aperture  in  the  foliage  let  through  a  single 
ray  of  light.  It  came  from  the  direction  of  the 
parsonage. 

"Tony's  pet  hallucination  is  of  a  wandering 
light  in  the  garden  and  orchard,  a  sort  of 'Will 
o'  the  Wisp'  affair,  which  it  is  his  duty  to  look 
after,"  Hester  had  said  that  evening.  "He  rushes 
downstairs  at  all  hours  of  the  evening  to  see  who 
is  carrying  it.  I  told  him  last  night  that  burglars 
were  too  clever  to  care  to  enter  a  clergyman's 
house,  but  he  cannot  be  convinced  that  some- 
body, bent  upon  mischief,  doesn't  prowl  about 
the  premises.  He  is  half  blind,  you  know,  and 
has  but  three-fourths  of  his  wits  within  call." 

Recollecting  this,  March  arose  cautiously,  whis- 
pered to  Thor  to  "trail,"  and  stole  noiselessly  up 
the  easy  grade. 

The  light  was  in  the  wing  of  the  parsonage  and 
shone  from  the  wide  window  of  the  pastor's  study 
on  the  first  floor.  The  shutters  were  open;  a 
wire  screen  excluded  insects,  and  just  within  this 
sat  a  woman  at  a  typewriter — Hetty! 

Across  the  shallow  garden  he  could  see  that 
her  hair  was  combed  to  the  crown  of  her  head  for 
coolness,  and  coiled  loosely  there.  Now  thai  he 
was  nearer  to  the  house,  he  distinguished  another 


H2  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

voice,  also  a  woman's,  dictating,  or  reading,  as  the 
flying  fingers  manipulated  the  keys.  Drawing 
out  his  repeater,  he  struck  it.  Half-past  twelve ! 

"I  have  been  sorely  interrupted  in  my  pulpit 
preparation  this  week,"  Mr.  Wayt  had  informed 
Mrs.  Gilchrist,  on  taking  leave  that  night.  "I 
fear  the  sunlight  will  extinguish  my  midnight 
argand  burner.  'The  labor  we  delight  in  physicks 
pain/  and,  with  me,  takes  the  place  of  slumber, 
meat,  and  drink." 

Impressed  by  an  undefined  sense  of  trouble. 
March  stood,  his  hand  upon  the  gate,  almost 
decided  to  go  up  to  the  house  and  inquire  if 
aught  were  amiss.  While  he  cast  about  in  his 
mind  for  some  form  of  words  that  might  account 
for  his  intrusion,  Mrs.  Wayt's  figure  came  forward, 
and  offered,  with  one  hand,  a  glass  of  water  to 
her  sister.  In  the  other  she  held  a  paper.  With- 
out taking  her  fingers  from  the  typewriter  Hetty 
raised  her  head,  Mrs.  Wayt  put  the  glass  to  her 
lips,  and,  while  she  drank,  dictated  a  sentence 
from  the  sheet  in  her  hand.  In  the  breezeless 
hush  of  the  July  night  a  clause  was  audible  to  the 
spectator. 

"Who  has  not  heard  the  story  of  the  drummer 
boy  of  Gettysburg?" 

"Click-click-clack!  Click-click-clack!"  recom- 
menced the  noisy  rattle. 

While  Hetty's  fingers  flew  her  sister  fanned 
her  gently,  but  the  eyes  of  one  were  riveted  to 


MK.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S   SISTER.  113 

the  machine,  those  of  the  other  never  left  the 
paper  in  her  hand. 

March  went  back  to  his  orchard  camp,  Thor  at 
his  heels.' 

It  was  close  cloudy ;  the  purple  play  of  light- 
ning was  whitening  and  concentrating  in  less  fre- 
quent lines  and  lances.  When  these  came,  it 
could  be  seen  that  thunderheads  were  lifting 
themselves  in  the  west.  But  the  night  remained 
windless,  and  the  iterative  click  still  teased  the 
ears  of  the  watcher.  It  was  an  odd  vigil,  even 
for  an  anxious  lover,  to  lie  there,  gazing  into  the 
black  abysses  of  shade,  seeing  naught  except  by 
livid  flashes  that  left  deeper  blackness,  and  know- 
ing whose  vital  forces  were  expended  in  the  un- 
seasonable toil. 

What  could  it  mean?  Did  the  overladen  girl 
add  copying  for  pay  to  the  list  of  her  labors? 
And  could  the  sister  who  seemed  to  love  her,  aid 
and  abet  the  suicidal  work?  Where  was  Mr. 
Wayt?  The  play  of  questions  took  the  measure 
and  beat  of  the  type  keys,  until  he  was  wild  with 
speculation  and  hearkening. 

At  half-past  two  the  rattle  ceased  suddenly. 
Almost  beside  himself  with  nervous  restlessness, 
he  sprang  up  and  looked  through  the  gap  in  the 
boughs.  The  light  went  out,  and,  at  the  same 
instant,  the  delayed  storm  burst  in  roar  and  rain. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SUNDAY,  July  5,  dawned  gloriously,  clear 
and  fresh  after  the  thunder-storm,  to  which  Fair- 
hill  people  still  refer  pridefully,  as  the  most  vio- 
lent known  in  thirty  years.  The  gunpowder  and 
Chinese  paper  taint  was  swept  and  washed  out  of 
the  world. 

Mrs.  Wayt,  holding  Fanny  by  the  hand,  and 
followed  decorously  by  the  twin  boys  in  their 
Sunday  clothes  and  churchward-bound  behavior, 
emerged  from  her  gate  as  the  Gilchrists  gained  it. 
In  the  white  light  of  the  forenoon,  the  eyes  of 
the  pastor's  wife  showed  faded ;  groups  of  fine 
wrinkles  were  at  the  corners,  and  bistre  shadows 
under  them.  Yet  she  announced  vivaciously 
that  all  were  in  their  usual  health  at  home,  except 
for  Mr.  Wayt's  headache,  and  nobody  had  been 
hurt  yesterday. 

"For  which  we  should  return  special  thanks, 
public  and  private,"  she  went  on  to  say,  walking, 
with  her  little  girl,  abreast  with  Judge  and  Mrs. 
Gilchrist,  the  boys  falling  back  with  the  young 
people.  "At  least,  those  of  us  who  are  the 
mothers  of  American  boys.  I  can  breathe  with 
tolerable  freedom  now  until  the  next  Fourth  of 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  115 

July.  What  a  fearful  storm  we  had  last  night ! 
My  baby  was  awakened  by  it  and  wanted  to 
know  if  it  was  'torpetoes  or  firetrackers?'  Yet, 
since  we  owe  our  beautiful  Sabbath  to  the 
thunder  and  rain,  we  may  be  thankful  for  it;  as 
for  many  other  things  that  seem  grievous  in  the 
endurance." 

"I  hope  Mr.  Wayt's  headache  is  not  in  conse- 
quence of  having  sat  up  until  daybreak,  as  he 
threatened  to  do,"  the  judge  said,  in  a  genial 
voice  that  reached  his  son's  ears. 

March  listened  breathlessly  for  the  reply. 

"I  think  not.  I  did  not  ask  him  this  morning 
at  what  time  he  left  his  study.  He  is  not 
inclined  to  be  communicative  with  regard  to  his 
sins  of  commission  in  that  respect,  but  I  suspect 
he  is  an  incorrigible  offender.  He  attributes  his 
headache — verbally — to  the  extraordinary  heat 
of  yesterday.  We  all  suffered  from  it,  more  or 
less,  and  it  increased  rather  than  diminished, 
after  sunset." 

"Is  Mr.  Wayt  well  enough  to  take  the  service 
this  morning?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  quickly  emphatical.  "It  would  be 
a  severe  indisposition  indeed  that  would  keep  him 
out  of  the  pulpit.  Both  his  parents  suffered 
intensely  from  nervous  and  sick  headaches,  so  he 
could  hardly  hope  to  escape.  I  have  observed 
that  people  who  are  subject  to  constitutional 
attacks  of  this  kind,  are  seldom  ill  in  any  other 


n6  MR.     WAYT'S    WIPES  SISTER. 

way,  particularly  if  the  headaches  are  hereditary. 
How  do  you  account  for  this,  Judge  Gilchrist? 
Or,  perhaps,  you  doubt  the  statement  itself." 

March  did  not  trouble  his  brains  with  his 
father's  reply.  The  volubility  of  one  whose  dis- 
course was  generally  distinctively  refined  and 
moderate  in  tone  and  terms  would  of  itself  have 
challenged  attention.  But  what  was  her  object 
in  saying  that  she  had  not  inquired  at  what  hour 
her  husband  left  his  study  last  night?  Since 
she  and  her  sister  were  in  occupation  of  the  room 
from  midnight — probably  before  that  hour — until 
two  in  the  morning,  she  certainly  knew  that  he 
was  not  there  and  almost  as  surely  where  he  was 
and  how  engaged  during  those  hours.  Where 
was  the  need  of  duplicity  in  the  circumstances? 
Was  she  committed  to  uphold  the  professional 
fiction,  which  her  husband  circulated  vauntingly, 
that  his  best  pulpit  preparation  must  be  done 
when  honest  people  are  asleep  in  their  beds — that 
the  beaten  oil  of  the  sanctuary  must  flow  through 
lamp-wick  or  gas-burners?  What  end  was  sub- 
served by  supererogatory  diplomacy  and  subter- 
fuge? 

"How  are  the  two  Hesters  to-day,  Mrs.  Wayt?" 
asked  May,  from  the  side  of  her  puzzled  brother. 

"Hester  is  rather  languid.     The  heat  again !" 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder  to  say  it,  and 
they  could  see  how  entirely  the  freshness  had 
gone  from  eyes  and  complexion.  Her  very  hair 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  n? 

looked  bleached  and  dry.  "The  weather  will 
excuse  every  mishap  and  misdemeanor  until  the 
dog  days  are  over.  Hetty  stayed  at  home  to 
watch  over  her.  It  is  a  source  of  regret  to  Mr. 
Wayt  and  myself" — comprehensively  to  the  four 
Gilchrists — "that  my  sister  is  so  often  debarred 
the  privileges  of  the  sanctuary  in  consequence  of 
Hester's  dependence  upon  her." 

"I  have  remarked  that  she  is  frequently  absent 
from  church,"  Mrs.  Gilchrist  answered. 

Her  dry  tone  annoyed  her  son.  Yet  how  could 
she,  bred  in  luxury  and  living  in  affluence,  enter 
into  the  exigencies  of  a  position  which  combined 
the  offices  of  nurse,  companion,  housewife,  seam- 
stress, mother,  and  bread-winner? 

Mrs.  Wayt  took  alarm. 

"Poor  child !  she  hardly  calls  herself  a  church- 
goer at  all.  But  it  is  not  her  fault.  She  thinks, 
and  with  reason,  that  it  is  more  important  for  me 
to  attend  service  regularly — for  the  sake  of  the 
example,  you  understand — and  we  cannot  leave 
our  dear,  helpless  child  with  the  children  or  ser- 
vants. She  gets  no  Sabbath  except  as  my  sister 
gives  it  to  her.  I  am  anxious  that  the  true  state 
of  the  case  should  be  understood  by  the  church 
people.  Hetty  would  grieve  to  think  that  her 
enforced  absences  are  a  stumbling  block." 

Her  solicitude  was  genuine  and  obvious.  Judge 
Gilchrist  offered  an  assuasive : 

"We  must  have  a  telephone  wire  run  from  the 


Il8  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

pulpit  to  Miss  Hester's  room.  I  have  known  of 
such  things." 

"I  don't  believe  that  Hester  would  care  to  keep 
her  room  Sunday  mornings  then !"  whispered 
Perry,  r enfant  terrible  of  the  Wayt  family.  "She 
says  family  prayers  are  all  she  can  stand." 

March,  the  recipient  of  the  saucy  "aside,"  cast 
a  warning  look  at  the  telltale.  Inwardly  he  was 
amused  by  the  unlucky  revelation.  Spoiled  child 
as  Hester  was,  she  had  marvelously  keen  percep- 
tions and  shrewd  judgment.  She  saw  through 
the  jugglery  that  deceived  the  mass  of  Mr.  Wayt's 
followers,  and  rated  correctly  the  worth  of  his 
capital. 

He  juggled  rarely  to-day.  Even  his  voice  par- 
took of  the  spread-eagle  element  which  interfused 
Divine  services  as  conducted  by  the  popular 
preacher.  The  church  was  full  to  the  doors, 
many  of  the  audience  being  strangers  and  sight- 
seers. The  number  of  "transients"  increased 
weekly. 

"He  is  like  fly-paper,"  Hester  had  said,  this 
very  Sunday,  as  the  skirts  of  his  well-fitting  coat, 
clerically  cut  and  closely  buttoned,  cleared  the 
front  door.  "Out  of  the  many  that  swarm  and 
buzz  about  him,  some  are  sure  to  stick — that  is, 
take  pews!  That  is  the  test  of  spiritual  hus- 
bandry, Hetty!  I  believe  I'll  be  an  infidel!" 

"Don't  be  utterly  absurd !"  answered  her  aunt 
in  a  spiritless  way.  "I  haven't  the  energy  to 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  119 

argue,  or  even  scold.  'Let  God  be  true,  and 
every  man  a  liar.'  God  forgive  me,  but  I  am 
ready,  sometimes,  to  say  that  all  men  are  !  But 
I  can't  let  Him  go,  dear!" 

Mr.  Wayt  gave  out  the  opening  hymn  in  tones 
that  would  have  been  clarion,  but  for  an  occa- 
sional break  into  falsetto  that  brought  to  March's 
irreverent  mind  the  wheezing  drone  of  a  bagpipe. 

We  are  living,  we  are  dwelling. 

In  a  grand  and  awful  time  ; 

In  an  age  on  ages  telling, 

To  be  living  is  sublime. 

Hark  !  the  waking  up  of  nations, 

Gog  and  Magog  to  the  fray ! 

Hark !  what  soundeth  ?  'Tis  creation 

Groaning  for  its  latter  day  ! 

His  text  was,  as  was  his  custom,  startlingly 
peculiar: 

"'Only  the  stump  of  Dagon  was  left  to  him" 

It  was  a  political  discourse,  after  the  manner  of 
a  majority  of  discourses  which  are  miscalled 
"National."  Government  jobbery,  nepotism,  and 
chicanery;  close  corporations,  railway  monopo- 
lies, municipal  contracts — each  had  its  castiga- 
tion ;  at  each  was  hurled  the  prophecy  of  the  day 
of  doom  when  head  and  palms  would  be  sundered 
from  the  fishy  trunk,  and  evil  in  every  form  be 
dominated  by  God's  truth  marching  on. 

March  listened  for  a  while,  then  reverted  to 
matters  of  more  nearly  personal  interest.  Last 


120  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

night's  incident  had  left  a  most  disagreeable  im- 
pression on  his  mind,  which  was  confirmed  by 
Mrs.  Wayt's  demeanor.  May's  assertion  of  the 
Bohemian  flavor  recurred  to  him  more  than  once. 
No !  the  specious  advocate  of  public  reforms  and 
private  probity  did  not  "ring  true."  And  protest 
as  Hester  might,  with  all  the  passion  of  a  forceful 
nature,  against  her  father's  double  ways,  he  was 
her  father,  and  the  ruler  of  his  household.  His 
wife,  it  was  plain,  believed  in  and  imitated  him. 

Gazing  at  the  pale,  large-featured  face  of  the 
orator,  now  alive  with  his  theme,  and  glancing 
from  this  to  the  refined,  faded  lineaments  of  her 
whose  meek  eyes  were  raised  to  it  from  the  pas- 
tor's pew,  he  was  distrustful  of  both.  He  wished 
Hetty  were  not  Mr.  Wayt's  wife's  sister,  or  that 
he  could  marry  her  out  of  hand,  and  get  his 
brother-in-law,  once  removed,  a  call  to — Alaska! 
Her,  he  never  doubted.  Their  acquaintance  had 
been  brief,  and  scanty  opportunities  of  improving 
it  had  been  vouchsafed  to  him  of  late;  yet  she 
had  fastened  herself  too  firmly  upon  affection  and 
esteem  to  admit  of  the  approach  of  disparaging 
suspicion.  She  might  be  a  slave  to  her  sister  and 
her  sister's  children.  She  could  never  be  made  a 
tool  for  the  furtherance  of  unworthy  ends.  She 
would  not  have  said:  "I  did  not  inquire  at  what 
hour  Mr.  Wayt  left  his  study  last  night !"  If  she 
spoke,  it  would  be  to  tell  the  truth. 

At  this  point  an  idea  entered  his  brain,  carry- 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIPES   SISTER.  1 21 

ing  a  flood  of  light  with  it.  Mrs.  Wayt  was  an 
author — one  of  the  many  ministers'  wives  who 
eke  out  insufficient  salaries  by  writing  for  Sunday- 
school  and  church  papers!  It  was  a  matter  of 
moment — perhaps  of  ten  dollars — to  get  off  a 
MS.  by  a  given  time,  and  Hetty  had  taken  it 
down  in  typewriting  from  her  dictation  and  the 
rough  draught.  Of  a  certainty,  here  was  the 
solution  of  the  mysterious  vigil,  and  of  Mrs. 
Wayt's  equivocation  !  She  looked  like  a  woman 
who  would  write  over  the  signature  of  "Aunt 
Huldah"  in  the  Children's  Column,  or  "Theresa 
Trefoil"  in  the  Woman's  Work-table,  and  dread 
lest  her  identity  with  these  worthies  should  be 
suspected  by  her  husband's  people,  or  by  even 
"dear  Percy"  himself. 

March  experienced  a  blessed  letting-down  of 
the  whole  system — a  surcease  from  worrying 
thought,  so  sudden  that  a  deep  sigh  escaped  him 
that  made  his  mother  glance  askance  at  him. 
Instead  of  admiring  the  brave  industry  of  the  true 
wife  he  had  suffered  a  whimsical  prejudice  to 
poison  his  mind  against  her.  He  despised  him- 
self as  a  midnight  spy  and  gossip  hunter,  in  the 
recollection  of  the  orchard  vigil.  The  patient, 
unseasonable  toil  of  the  sisters  became  sublime. 

Who  has  not  heard  the  story  of  the  drummer 
boy  of  Gettysburg?"  thundered  the  preacher, 
raising  eagle  eyes  from  the  manuscript  laid  be- 
tween the  Bible  leaves. 


122  MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  StSTER. 

March  jumped  as  if  the  fulmination  were  chain- 
shot.  Mrs.  Gilchrist,  looking  full  at  him,  saw  his 
color  flicker  violently,  his  fingers  clinch  hard  upon 
the  palms.  Then  he  became  so  ghastly  that  she 
whispered : 

"Are  you  ill?" 

"  A  sharp  pain  in  my  side!  It  will  be  gone  in 
a  moment,"  he  whispered  back,  his  lips  contract- 
ing into  a  smile.  Rather  a  sword  in  his  heart. 
The  light  within  him  was  darkness.  How  foolish 
not  to  have  solved  the  mean  riddle  at  a  glance ! 
Mr.  Wayt's  sensational  sermons  were  composed 
by  his  clever  wife,  and  transcribed  by  her  as  clever 
sister!  Here  was  the  secret  of  the  sense  of  un- 
reality and  distrust  that  had  haunted  him  in  this 
man's  presence  from  the  beginning  of  their 
acquaintanceship.  The  specious  divine  was  a 
fraud  out  and  out,  and  through  and  through  a 
cheap  cheat.  No  wonder  now,  at  the  swift  itiner- 
ancy of  his  ministry !  His  talk  of  midnight  study 
was  a  lie,  his  pretense  of  scholarship  a  trick  so 
flimsy  that  a  child  should  have  seen  through  it. 
He  had  gone  to  bed  the  evening  before,  and 
taken  his  rest  in  sleep,  while  his  accomplices  got 
up  to  order  the  patriotic  pyrotechnics  for  the 
next  day. 

No  wonder  that  Mrs.  Wayt's  eyes  were  furtive 
and  anxious,  that  there  were  crow's  feet  in  the 
corners,  and  bistre  rings  about  them  after  that 
July  night's  work ! 


MR.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER.  123 

No  wonder  that  the  less  hardened  and  less 
culpable  sister-in-law  shunned  church  services  ! 

The  sword  was  double-edged,  and  dug  and 
turned  in  his  heart.  For  the  girl  who  lent  aid, 
willing  or  reluctant,  to  the  deliberate  deception 
practiced  in  the  Name  which  is  above  all  other 
names,  had  a  face  as  clear  as  the  sun,  and  eyes 
honest  as  Heaven,  and  he  loved  her ! 

The  main  body  of  the  audience  could  not  with- 
draw their  eyes  from  the  narrator  of  the  telling 
anecdote  of  the  drummer-boy  of  Gettysburg. 
The  story  was  new  to  all  there,  although  he  had 
assumed  their  familiarity  with  it.  It  was  graphic ; 
it  was  pathetic  to  heart-break  ;  it  thrilled  and 
glowed  and  coruscated  with  self-devotion  and 
patriotism  ;  it  was  an  inimitable  illustration  of  the 
point  just  made  by  the  orator,  who  was  carried 
clear  out  of  himself  by  the  theme.  And  not  one 
person  there — not  even  March  Gilchrist,  fiercely 
distrustful  of  the  man  and  all  his  works — sus- 
pected that  it  was  an  original  incident,  home- 
grown, homespun,  and  home-woven.  Write  it  not 
down  as  a  sin  against  the  popular  pastor  of  the 
Fairhill  First  Church  that  the  Gettysburg  hero 
was  a  twenty-four-year-old  child  of  the  speaker's 
brain.  If  the  Mill  of  the  Press,  and  the  Foundry 
of  Tradition  cannot  turn  out  illustrations  numer- 
ous and  pat  enough  to  suit  every  subject  and 
time,  private  enterprise  must  supply  personal 
demand. 


124  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

"  I  think  young  Gilchrist  was  ill  in  church  to- 
day," observed  Mr.  Wayt  to  his  wife  that  after- 
noon, as  she  fed  him  with  the  dainty  repast  he 
could  not  go  to  the  table  to  eat. 

He  lay  on  the  settee  in  the  wide,  cool  hall, 
supported  by  linen-covered  cushions.  She  had 
brought  him,  as  a  persuasive  first  course,  a  cup  of 
delicious  bouillon,  ice-cold,  and  administered  it  to 
him,  spoonful  by  spoonful. 

"  He  changed  color,  and  seemed  to  be  in  great 
pain  for  an  instant,"  he  continued,  after  another 
sip.  "  His  mother  looked  very  uneasy,  and  ap- 
parently advised  him  to  go  out.  I  judged  from 
his  fluctuations  of  color  that  it  was  vertigo — or  a 
severe  pain  in  the  head.  He  would  not  leave 
until  the  services  were  over.  I  have  few  more 
attentive  hearers  than  March."  Another  sip. 
"  If  I  should  be  the  means  of  bringing  him  into 
the  Church,  it  would  be  a  happy  day  for  his  pious 
mother.  Should  my  headache  abate  in  the  course 
of  an  hour  or  so,  I  will  look  in  and  inquire  how 
he  is.  It  would  only  be  courteous  and  neigh- 
borly." 

In  the  adjoining  dining  room,  the  door  of  which 
the  draught  had  opened  a  few  inches,  the  family 
circle  of  the  solicitous  pastor  heard  every  word  of 
the  communication,  although  his  accents  were 
subdued  by  pain. 

Sharp-eared-and-eyed  Perry  winked  at  Hetty. 

"  He    won't    find    Mr.    March    Gilchrist,"   he 


MR.    IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  125 

mouthed  in  a  fashion  invented  by  himself,  to  con- 
vey pert  speeches  only  to  the  person  for  whom 
they  were  invented.  "  He  went  to  New  York  on 
the  five  o'clock  train.  I  saw  him.  He  said  he 
was  going  to  dine  with  a  friend.  I  heard  him.  A 
man  asked  him.  Another  slice  of  beef,  please, 
Hetty  !  Rare,  and  a  bit  of  fat !  Some  gravy  on 
my  potatoes,  too !  " 

Hetty  had  shunned  the  orchard  since  the  day 
of  the  last  sitting.  Seated  behind  the  shutters  of 
her  chamber-window,  she  had  seen,  almost  every 
day,  Thor  bound  across  the  grass  in  pursuit  of  a 
figure  partially  hidden  by  the  lower  branches. 
Since  March  frequented  the  spot,  it  was  no  resort 
for  her.  She  had  no  time  for  play,  she  told 
Hester,  gently,  when  she  pleaded  for  a  return  to 
the  pleasant  lounging  and  talk  "  under  green- 
apple  boughs."  Homer  could  draw  the  carriage 
down  the  garden-walk  and  through  the  gate  and 
leave  the  cripple  there  with  books  and  color 
box,  whenever  she  wanted  to  go.  Hester  often 
brought  back  stones  of  chats  and  readings  and 
painting  lessons  with  the  brother  or  sister — some- 
times with  both.  Occasionally,  March  came  to 
the  parsonage  with  a  message  from  his  sister  to 
the  effect  that  she  had  taken  Hester  home  with 
her  for  the  day  or  evening,  and  would  return  her 
in  good  order.  He  was  apt  to  insist  upon  leav- 
ing the  message  with  Hetty,  if  Mary  Ann  or  one 
of  the  children  answered  his  ring.  Mr.  Wayt's 


126  MR.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTEK. 

wife's  sister  would  obey  the  summons  in  person, 
but  she  did  not  invite  the  bearer  in. 

She  ran  down  in  her  simple  morning  gown,  or 
almost  as  plain  afternoon  dress,  without  waiting 
to  remove  her  sewing  apron,  heard  what  he  had 
to  say  gravely,  and  replied  civilly,  as  might  a  ser- 
vant or  governess.  And  day  by  day,  he  marked 
the  lessening  round  of  cheek  and  chin,  and  the 
deepening  of  the  plait  between  the  brows.  She 
could  not  know  that  he  went  away,  each  time 
pitying  and  loving  her  the  more,  and  furious  at 
the  cruelty  of  the  demands  upon  her  time  and 
strength.  She  could  not  have  altered  her 
behavior,  unless  to  grow  more  formal,  had  she 
divined  all. 

But  for  the  orchard  outings  Hester  would  have 
had  but  a  dull  summer  of  it.  As  it  was,  it  was 
the  happiest  of  her  life.  She  actually  gained 
flesh,  and  her  cheeks  had  the  delicate  flush  of  a 
sweet-pea  blossom.  She  mellowed  and  mollified 
in  the  intercourse  with  the  sound,  bright  natures 
of  her  new  friends.  Prosperity  was  teaching  her 
unselfishness. 

Hetty  had  a  proof  of  this  after  the  Sunday 
dinner  was  eaten,  and  there  still  remained  a  long 
hour  of  sunful  daylight. 

"  I  have  a  charming  book  which  Miss  May  lent 
me  yesterday,"  she  said,  as  her  custodian  inquired 
what  she  should  do  for  her  entertainment.  "  And 
now  that  mamma  has  set  the  children  to  study- 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  127 

ing  their  Sunday-school  lessons  for  next  week, 
you  ought  to  have  a  breathing  spell,  my  poor 
dear.  You  are  bleaching  too  fast  to  please  me. 
You  can't  plead  '  work  to  do  '  for  once." 

Hetty  yielded — the  more,  it  would  seem,  be- 
cause she  had  not  the  strength  to  resist  love 
pleadings  than  from  any  desire  for  the  "  outing" 
recommended  by  Hester.  Taking  shawl  and 
cushion  with  her,  she  passed  down  the  garden 
alley  to  the  gate.  There  was  a  broad  track 
through  the  orchard,  worn  by  the  wheeled  chair 
and  Hester's  attendants.  It  led  straight  to  the 
king  apple  tree.  From  this  bourne  another  track, 
not  so  distinctly  marked,  diverged  to  the  white 
picket  fence  shutting  in  the  Gilchrist  garden. 
Hetty's  feet  had  never  trodden  this,  she  reflected 
with  a  pang,  after  she  had  settled  herself  against 
the  brown  trunk.  It  was  most  probable  that  she 
never  would. 

Her  one  little  dream  was  dead,  and  she  was 
too  practical  a  business  woman  to  resuscitate  it. 
Her  consistent  plan  of  avoiding  March  Gilchrist 
and  abjuring  the  painful  sweet  of  association  with 
his  sister  was  adopted  before  she  returned  to  the 
house  from  her  ineffectual  quest"  for  Homer  and 
the  parsley.  She  was  filled  with  wonder,  in  look- 
ing back  to  the  time — was  it  three  minutes,  or 
thirty? — she  had  wasted,  leaning  on  the  gate, 
enveloped  in  lilac  perfume  as  in  a  viewless  mantle, 
and  daring  to  feel  as  other  and  unexceptional 


128  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

girls  feel — that  she  could  have  forgotten  herself 
so  utterly.  She  said — "  so  shamelessly." 

"  The  worm  on  the  earth  may  look  up  to  the 
star,"  if  it  fancies  that  method  of  spending  an 
ignoble  life,  but  star-gazing  and  presumptous 
longing  for  a  million  centuries  would  bring  planets 
and  worms  no  nearer  together.  Hetty  was  very 
humble  in  imagining  the  figure.  Some  people 
must  live  on  the  shady  side  of  the  street,  where 
rents  are  low,  and  green  mold  gathers  upon 
stones,  and  snails  crawl  in  areas.  If  the  wretches 
who  pune  and  pale  in  the  malaria-breeding  damps 
would  not  go  mad,  they  must  not  look  too  often 
across  the  way  where  flowers  and  people  bloom. 
If  they  do,  they  must  support  the  consequences. 

This  misguided  girl  had  looked.  She  was  now 
suffering.  That  she  merited  what  she  had  to 
bear  did  not  make  the  pain  less. 

Unwittingly  she  had  spread  her  shawl  where 
March  had  laid  his  rug  last  night.  The  rough 
bark  of  the  tree-bole  hurt  her  presently.  Her 
gown  was  thin,  and  her  flesh  less  firm  than  it  had 
been  six  weeks  ago.  She  slid  down  upon  the 
shawl,  her  head  on  the  cushion,  and  reached  out, 
in  idle  misery,  to  pick  up  some  withered  leaves 
and  small,  unripe  apples  scattered  on  the  grass. 
March  had  dropped  them  while  hearkening  to 
his  sister's  criticism  of  the  Bohemian  household. 
She  was  as  idly — and  as  miserably — tearing  apart 
the  leaves  toughened  by  the  heat  of  the  day, 


MR.    IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  129 

when  she  heard  a  joyous  rush  behind  her  and 
felt  the  panting  of  hot  breath  upon  her  neck,  and 
Thor  was  kissing  her  face  and  licking  her  hands. 
She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  cast  a  wild  glance 
along  the  path  and  under  the  trees.  There  was 
no  one  in  sight.  The  grounds  were  peremptorily 
posted,  and  no  vagrant  foot  ever  crossed  them. 
She  took  in  the  situation  at  once.  March  had 
gone  to  New  York  in  the  five  o'clock  train ;  the 
dog,  wandering  aimlessly  about  and  missing  his 
master,  had  espied  her,  and  accepted  her  as  a  sub- 
stitute. She  knelt  down  and  clasped  her  arms 
about  his  head,  laid  her  cheek  to  his  burly 
muzzle. 

"  O  Thor !  Thor !  you  would  help  me  if  you 
could."  Just  as  she  had  fondled  him  in  those 
far-away,  blissful  days.  Her  hand  was  tangled  in 
his  coat  when,  looking  across  his  huge  bulk,  she 
had  met  March  Gilchrist's  eyes.  True  eyes — and 
bonny  and  true,  which  must  never  read  her  soul 
again. 

"  Thor!  dear  Thor  !  ''  She  cried  it  out  in  a  pas- 
sion of  tears. 

The  faithful  fellow  moaned  a  little  in  sympathy. 
The  more  eloquent  than  human  longing  to  com- 
fort the  sorrowing,  never  seen  except  in  a  dog's 
eyes,  filled  and  rounded  his. 

"  I  wouldn't  cry  if  I  could  help  it,  dear,"  said 
Hetty,  her  arch  smile  striking  through  the  rain. 
"And  nobody  else  should  see  me  shed  a  tear. 


130  MR.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER. 

You  are  my  only  confidant ;  and  I  do  believe 
you  understand — a  little." 

He  was  not  an  indifferent  consoler,  it  appeared, 
for  in  fifteen  minutes  both  of  them  were  asleep, 
their  heads  upon  the  same  pillow. 

The  sunset  sea  breeze  rustled  the  stooping 
boughs.  Arrows  of  greenish  gold,  tipped  with 
fire,  were  shot  at  random  between  the  leaves  at 
the  sleeping  pair.  Hetty  was  very  pale,  but  the 
grieving  droop  of  the  facial  lines,  the  slight  full- 
ness of  the  lower  lip,  and  the  slow  curve  of  the 
arm  thrown  above  her  head  made  her  seem  like 
a  child.  She  looked  what  she  was,  fairly  tired 
out — weariness  so  intense  that  it  would  have 
chased  slumber  from  the  eyelids  of  an  older 
sufferer.  She  had  cried  herself  to  sleep,  Thor's 
presence  giving  the  sense  of  protecting  compan- 
ionship the  child  feels  in  his  mother's  nearness. 
The  cool  breath  of  the  approaching  twilight,  the 
grateful  shade,  and  Sabbath  stillness  did  the  rest. 

Now  and  then  a  long,  broken  sigh  heaved  her 
chest,  and  ran  through  her  body.  There  was  the 
glisten  of  tiny  crystals  upon  her  eyelashes.  Once 
she  sobbed  aloud,  and  Thor  moved  uneasily  and 
sighed  sympathetically.  By  and  by  he  began  to 
beat  his  tail  gently  against  the  turf,  his  beautiful 
eyes  gleamed  glad  and  wistful,  but  he  did  not 
offer  to  lift  his  head.  Hetty  patted  it  in  her 
sleep,  and  left  her  hand  there. 

She  and  Thor  were  walking  over  a  wilderness 


MR.    IVAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER.  131 

prairie.  The  coarse  grass  flaunted  up  to  her  chin, 
and  she  would  have  lost  the  dog  had  she  not 
wound  her  fingers  in  his  hair.  Such  a  long,  tire- 
some, toilsome  way  it  was,  and  the  grass  so  stiff 
and  strong !  Sometimes  it  knotted  about  her 
ankles ;  sometimes  the  beards  struck  like  whips 
across  her  face.  A  bitter  wind  was  blowing,  and 
stung  her  eyes  to  watering.  In  passing  it  lashed 
the  grass  into  surges  that  boomed  like  the  sea. 

Miles  and  miles  away  an  orange  sunset  burned 
luridly  upon  the  horizon,  and  right  between  her 
and  it  was  a  floating  figure,  moving  majestically 
onward.  A  mantle  blew  back  in  the  bitter  wind 
until  she  could  almost  touch  the  hem ;  a  confus- 
ing flutter  of  drapery  masked  the  head  and 
shoulders  ;  the  face  was  set  steadfastly  westward 
and  kept  away  from  her.  At  long  intervals  a 
hand  was  tossed  clear  of  the  white  foldings  and 
beckoned  her  to  follow. 

"  And  follow  I  will ! "  she  said,  between  her  set 
teeth,  to  herself  and  to  Thor,  "  I  will  follow  until 
I  overtake  him  or  die  !  " 

And  all  the  while  the  blasting  wind  hissed  in 
her  hair  and  howled  in  the  pampas  grasses,  and 
her  feet  were  sore  and  bleeding ;  her  limbs  failed 
under  her ;  her  tongue  clave  to  the  roof  of  her 
mouth  with  dryness  ;  her  heart  beat  faint 

Hark !  At  the  upward  fling  of  her  leader's  arm 
music  rained  down  from  heaven,  and  the  earth 
made  joyous  response ;  strong,  exultant  strains, 


132  MR.    IVAYTS    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

like  an  organ  peal,  and  such  vibrant  melodious 
chimes  as  Bunyan  heard  when  all  the  bells  of  the 
holy  city  rang  together  for  joy.  The  majestic, 
floating  figure  turned  to  lean  toward  her  with 
outstretched  arms,  and  eyes  that  gazed  into  hers 
as  she  had  vowed  they  should  never  look  again. 

"Oh!  I  knew  it  must  be  you!"  She  said  it 
aloud,  in  her  rapturous  dream.  "It  could  be 
nobody  else  !  Thank  God  !  Thank  God  !  " 

Thor  bounded  from  under  her  hand.   .    . 

March  Gilchrist's  New  York  friend  was  a 
bachelor  cousin,  who  was  always  delighted  to 
have  "  a  good  fellow  "  drop  in  upon  him  on  Sun- 
day evening.  March,  in  the  uneasy  wretchedness 
that  beset  him,  honestly  intended  to  visit  him 
when  he  took  the  five  o'clock  train.  He  wanted 
to  get  away  from  the  place  for  a  few  hours,  he 
said  ;  away  from  tormenting  associations  and  pos- 
sible catechists,  and  think  calmly  of  the  next  step 
to  be  taken.  By  the  time  he  reached  Jersey  City 
he  had  discovered  that  he  was  trying  to  get  away 
from  himself  and  not  from  his  home  ;  moreover, 
that  he  wanted  neither  dinner  nor  the  society  of 
the  genial  celibate.  He  stepped  from  the  train, 
turned  into  the  station  restaurant,  sat  down  at  the 
table  he  had  occupied  on  the  day  he  landed  from 
the  City  of  Rome  and  missed  the  noon  train,  and 
ordered  at  random  something  to  eat. 

The  long  table  built  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
was  surrounded  by  a  party  of  men  and  women. 


MR.    IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  133 

The  men  wore  full  black  beards  and  a  great  deal 
of  waistcoat,  crossed  by  gold  ropes.  The  women 
had  round,  black  eyes,  high-bridged  noses  and 
pronounced  complexions.  March  tried  not  to  see 
them,  and  tried  to  eat  what  was  set  before  him. 
It  made  him  sick  to  observe  that  Hetty's  place 
was  filled  by  an  overblown  young  lady  whose 
bang  made  a  definite  downward  peak  between 
her  black  brows,  and  who  had  ten  rings  on  the 
left  hand  and  five  on  the  right. 

He  caught  the  6.30  train  back  to  Fairhill.  He 
had  made  up  his  sensible  mind  to  talk  over  his 
family  to  a  project  marvelously  well  developed 
when  one  remembers  that  the  inception  was  not 
an  hour  old  when  he  swung  himself  off  upon  the 
platform  of  the  Fairhill  station.  He  would  set 
out  next  week  for  the  Adironacks,  set  up  a  forest 
studio,  and  begin  "serious  work.'  The  phrase 
jumped  with  his  mood.  Nothing  else  would 
draw  the  inflammation  out  of  the  wound.  He 
meant  to  bear  up  like  a  man  under  the  blow  he 
had  received,  to  forget  disappointment  in  labor 
for  a  worthy  end  ;  love,  in  ambition. 

He  took  the  orchard  in  his  walk  home  from  the 
station.  It  was  quite  out  of  his  way,  and  he  was 
not  guilty  of  the  weakness  of  denying  this.  He 
went  there  deliberately  and  with  purpose,  vault- 
ing the  fence  from  the  quiet  street  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill,  as  he  had  done  on  that  memorable  Sun- 
day when  the  orchards  were  "all  a-flutter  with 


134  MR.     WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

pink."  One  more  look  at  the  nook  under  green 
apple-boughs  would  be  a  sad  satisfaction,  and  the 
contrast  between  what  he  had  hoped  and  what  he 
knew  to  be  rock-bottomed  reality,  would  be  a 
salutary  tonic.  One  look  he  must  have — a  look 
that  should  be  farewell  to  folly  and  regret. 

While  still  twenty  yards  away  from  the  arbor 
he  espied  something  that  looked  like  a  mass  of 
white  drapery  lying  upon  the  turf.  He  stood  just 
without  the  drooping  boughs  fencing  the  sleeper 
about,  his  face  framed  in  an  opening  of  the  foliage, 
as  Hetty,  aroused  by  Thor's  bound  from  her  side, 
raised  her  eyelids  and  closed  them  again  with  a 
smile  of  dreamy  delight  upon  eyes  swimming  in 
luminous  tears. 

"I  thought  it  was  you!"  she  repeated  in  a 
thrilling  whisper,  and  again,  and  more  drowsily — 
"  Thank  God  !  " 

The  church  bells,  chiming  the  half-hour  notice 
of  evening  service,  went  on  with  the  music  of  her 
dream. 

Thor,  enacting  a  second  time  the  role  of  Deus 
ex  machina,  thought  this  an  auspicious  moment 
for  thrusting  his  cold  nose  against  her  cheek. 

With  a  stifled  scream  she  attempted  to  rise,  and 
catching  her  foot  in  the  shawl,  would  have  fallen 
had  not  March  rushed  forward  to  her  help. 
Having  taken  her  hands  to  restore  her  to  her  bal- 
ance, he  continued  to  hold  them. 

She  struggled  to  free  them — but  feebly.     Sur- 


MR.    WA  YT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER.  135 

prise  and  confusion  had  robbed  her  of  strength 
and  self-possession. 

"  I  thought — they  said — that  is,  Perry  saw  you 
take  the  train  for  New  York,"  she  managed  to 
articulate. 

"  Hetty  !" — imploringly,  while  the  eyes  she  had 
seen  in  her  vision  overflowed  hers  with  loving 
light — "why  do  you  shun  me  so  persistently? 
Are  you  determined  never  to  hear  how  dear  you 
are  to  me  ?  " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THIS,  then,  was  the  outcome  of  March  Gilchrist's 
iron-clad  resolve  to  forget  in  serious  work  one  who 
could  never  make  him  or  his  family  happy ! 

Verily,  the  ways  and  variations  of  a  man  in  love 
are  past  finding  out  by  ordinary  means  and  every- 
day reasoning.  Our  sensible  swain  could  only 
plead  with  his  sister  in  defense  of  his  fast  grown 
passion,  that  the  girl  "  suited  him."  Having  de- 
cided within  eight  hours  that  no  alliance  could  be 
more  unsuitable  than  one  with  Mr.  Wayt's  wife's 
sister,  he  had  cast  himself  headforemost  into  the 
thick  of  impassioned  declaration  of  a  devotion 
the  many  waters  of  doubt  could  not  drown,  or 
the  fires  of  opposition  destroy. 

Dizzied  and  overwhelmed  as  she  was  by  his 
vehemence,  Hetty  was  the  first  to  regain  the  firm 
ground  of  reason.  He  had  seated  her,  with  gentle 
respect,  upon  the  cushion  that  had  pillowed  her 
head,  and  dropping  on  one  knee,  the  "  true,  bonny 
eyes  "  alight  with  eagerness,  poured  out  the  story 
whose  outlines  we  know.  Earnestness  took  the 
tinge  of  happiness  as  he  was  suffered  to  proceed ; 
the  deep  tones  shook  under  the  weight  of  emo- 
tion. Not  until  she  made  a  resolute  effort  to  dis- 
136 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  13? 

engage  her  hands,  and  he  saw  the  burning  blushes 
fade  into  dusky  pallor  and  her  eyes  grow  set  and 
troubled,  did  his  heart  begin  to  sink.  Then  the 
gallant,  knightly  soul  forbore  importunity  that 
might  be  persecution.  If  his  suit  distressed  her 
for  any  cause  whatsoever,  he  would  await  her  dis- 
position to  hearken  to  the  rest. 

Releasing  her,  he  arose  and  stood  a  little  space 
away,  respectfully  attending  upon  her  pleasure. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  impose  all  this  upon  re- 
luctant ears,"  he  said,  when  she  did  not  speak. 
Her  face  was  averted,  her  hands  pressed  hard 
together.  The  rust-brown  bandeaux,  ruffled  by 
the  pressure  of  her  head  upon  the  pillow,  gleamed 
in  the  dying  sunlight  like  a  nimbus.  The  slight, 
girlish  figure  was  not  a  Madonna's,  It  might  be 
a  Mary  at  the  tomb  in  Bethany  before  the  "  Come 
forth !  "  was  spoken. 

"  A  word  from  you  will  send  me  away,"  con- 
tinued March,  with  manly  dignity,  "  if  you  wish 
to  dismiss  me  and  the  subject  forever.  I  cannot 
stop  loving  you,  but  I  can  promise  not  to  annoy 
you  by  telling  you  of  a  love  you  cannot  receive." 

"  Annoy  me ! "  repeated  the  poor,  stiff  lips. 
"Annoy  me!  You  must  surely  know,  Mr.  Gil- 
christ,  that  that  is  not  a  word  to  be  used  by  you 
to  me !  " 

"  No  ?  "  coming  a  step  nearer,  eye  kindling  and 
voice  softening.  "  You  will  let  me  try  to  over- 
come indifference,  then — will  you  not  ?  " 


138  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

In  the  depth  of  her  distress  she  appreciated 
the  adroit  twist  he  gave  her  answer.  The  corners 
of  the  pale  mouth  stirred.  Her  strength  was 
slipping  from  her.  She  must  be  brief  and 
decisive. 

"  If  that  were  all  " — looking  courageously  into 
the  glowing  eyes — "  I  would  give  a  very  different 
answer  from  the  one  you  must  accept  without 
questioning.  I  know  that  I  can  never  give  any 
other,  unprepared  though  I  was  for  what  you 
have  said.  There  are  reasons  not  immediately 
connected  with  myself  why  I  ought  not  to  think 
for  a  moment  of — the  matter  you  were  speaking 
of.  You  have  paid  me  the  greatest  compliment 
a  man  can  offer  a  woman.  But  while  my  sister 
and  the  children  need  me  as  they  do  now  I  must 
not  think  of  leaving  them,  and  I  see  no  prospect 
of  their  needing  me  less  for  years  and  years  to 
come.  My  sister  opened  her  house  to  me  when 
I  was  orphaned  and  homeless.  I  owe  her  more 
than  I  could  make  you  understand.  She  is 
peculiarly  dependent  upon  me.  Hester  could 
not  do  without  me.  You  have  seen  that.  I  can- 
not bear  to  think  how  she  would  suffer  if  I  were 
to  go  away." 

In  her  desire  to  deal  gently  and  fairly  with  him 
she  had  made  a  concession  fatal  to  the  integrity 
of  her  cause.  He  laid  hold  of  it  at  once. 

"  Mrs.  Wayt  has  a  husband  ;  the  children  have 
a  father.  He  is  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  whose 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  139 

talents'are  approved  by  the  Church.  He  is  pop- 
ular, and  in  the  receipt  of  a  good  salary.  Fairhill 
will  probably  remain  Hester's  home  for  many 
years  to  come.  If  this  is  all  that  separates  us — 
why,  my  darling " 

The  strangest  expression  flashed  over  her 
face — a  wild  ecstasy  of  joy  that  gave  place,  the 
next  second,  to  anguish  as  wild.  She  put  her 
hands  over  the  tell-tale  face,  and  bent  her  fore- 
head upon  her  knees. 

"  Don't !  oh,  don't !  "  she  moaned.  "  This  is 
too  hard  !  too  cruel !  If  you  could  only  know 
all,  you  would  not  urge  me  !  I  did  not  think  you 
could  be  so  unkind  ! " 

"  Unkind  ?    To  you,  Hetty  ?  " 

"  No  !  no  !  "  moved  to  tears  by  the  hurt  tone, 
and  hurrying  over  the  words.  "  You  could  never 
be  that  to  anybody — much  less — I  cannot  say 
what  I  would  !  " 

March  knelt  down  by  her,  and  raised  her  head 
with  tender  authority  she  could  not  resist.  He 
wiped  the  tears  from  her  face  with  his  own  hand- 
kerchief ;  smiled  down  into  the  wet  eyes.  Loving 
intimacy  with  his  mother  and  sister  had  taught 
him  wondrously  winsome  ways. 

"  Listen  to  me,  dear ! "  as  he  would  address  a 
grieving  child.  "  Sometime,  when  you  are  quite 
willing  to  talk  freely  to  me  of  this  awful  'all/  I 
will  prove  to  you  how  chimerical  it  is.  Until 
then,  nothing  you  can  say  or  do  can  shake  my 


140  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

purpose  of  making  you  my  wife,  in  God's  own 
good  time.  We  were  made  for  one  another, 
Hetty !  I  have  known  that  this  great  while.  I 
am  positive  I  could  convince  you  of  it,  if  you 
would  give  me  a  chance." 

She  arose  nervously,  her  hands  chafing  one 
another  in  an  action  that  was  like  wringing  them 
in  impatience  or  anguish. 

"  I  must  go,  Mr.  Gilchrist !  It  is  wrong  to 
allow  you  to  say  all  this.  Then,  too,  Hester  will 
be  uneasy  and  need  me." 

"Let  me  go  with  you  and  explain  why  you 
have  outstayed  your  time,"  March  suggested, 
demurely.  "  We  could  not  have  a  more  sympa- 
thetic confidante  than  Hester.  And  I  must  tell 
somebody." 

She  looked  frightened. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  tell !  There  never  can  be. 
Cannot  you  see  ?  haven't  I  convinced  you  of 
this?" 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Until  you  can  lay  your 
hand  upon  your  heart — the  heart  you  and  I  know 
to  be  so  true  to  itself  and  to  others — and  say,  with 
the  lips  that  cannot  frame  a  lie — '  March  Gilchrist, 
I  can  never  love  you  in  any  circumstances ! '  I 
shall  not  see  this  other  '  never '  you  articulate  so 
fiercely.  If  you  want  to  get  rid  of  me  instantly, 
and  for  all  time,  look  at  me  and  say  it  now — 
Hetty  !  " 

His  lingering  enunciation  of  the  name  she  had 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  14* 

never  thought  beautiful  before,  would  of  itself 
have  deprived  her  of  the  power  to  obey.  She 
stood  dumb,  with  drooping  head  and  cheeks  burn- 
ing red  as  the  sunset,  her  figure  half  turned  away, 
a  lovely  study  of  maiden  confusion,  had  the  spec- 
tator been  cool  enough  to  note  artistic  effects. 

Chivalric  compassion  restrained  all  indication 
of  the  triumph  a  lover  must  feel  in  such  a  posi- 
tion. 

"  I  will  not  detain  you,  if  you  must  go  in,"  he 
said,  in  a  voice  that  was  gentlest  music  to  her  ear. 
"  Forgive  me  for  keeping  you  so  long.  I  know 
how  conscientious  you  are,  and  how  necessary 
you  are  to  Hester.  We  understand  one  another. 
I  will  be  very  patient,  dear,  and  considerate  of 
those  whose  claims  are  older  than  mine.  But 
there  is  one  relation  that  outranks  all  others  in 
the  sight  of  God  and  man.  That  relation  you 
hold  to  me.  Don't  interrupt  me,  love !  Nothing 
can  alter  the  fact.  Give  me  those ! "  as  she 
stooped  blindly  for  shawl  and  cushion.  "  It  is 
my  duty  to  relieve  you  of  all  burdens  which  you 
will  permit  me  to  carry  for  you.  You  would 
rather  not  have  me  go  to  the  house  with  you?" 
interpreting  her  gesture  and  look.  "  Only  to  the 
gate,  then  ?  You  see  how  reasonable  I  can  be 
when  possibilities  are  demanded." 

He  made  a  remark  upon  the  agreeable  change 
in  the  weather  within  the  last  twenty-four  hours, 
and  upon  the  sweet  repose  of  the  Sabbath  after 


142  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

the  tumult  of  the  National  holiday,  as  they  walked 
on,  side  by  side.  At  the  gate  he  stayed  her  with 
his  frank,  pleasant  laugh. 

"  I  have  a  confession  I  don't  mind  making  now. 
At  half-past  twelve  o'clock  last  night  I  stood  on 
this  spot  watching  you.  Thor  and  I  were  camp- 
ing out  in  the  orchard.  It  was  too  hot  to  go  into 
the  house.  I  heard  a  queer  clicking,  and  saw  a 
light  in  this  direction,  and  came  to  look  after 
Homer's  Jack-o'-lantern.  Instead,  I  saw  you  at 
the  study  window,  busy — oh!  how  wickedly 
busy — with  the  typewriter ! " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  for  the  face  into  which  he 
smiled  was  bloodless,  the  eyes  aghast.  She  made 
a  movement  as  if  to  grasp  the  shawl  and  pillow 
and  rush  away — then  her  forehead  fell  upon  the 
hand  that  clutched  at  the  pickets  for  steadiness. 

"  Are  you  angry  ?  "  pleaded  March,  amazed  and 
humble.  "  If  I  had  not  loved  you,  I  should  not 
have  been  here.  Was  it  an  impertinent  in- 
trusion ?  " 

"  No !  And  I  am  not  angry — only  startled." 
Her  complexion  was  still  ashy,  and  her  tongue 
formed  the  syllables  carefully.  "  I  can  understand 
that  you  must  have  thought  strange  of  what  you 
saw.  But  I  am  used  to  typewriting.  I  earned 
fifty  dollars" — with  mingled  pride  and  defiance 
March  thought  engaging — "  last  winter  by  copy- 
ing law  papers.  And  I  told  you — everybody 
must  know  how  poor  we  are." 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER.  143 

"I  know  more -than  that,  dearest !"  laying  his 
hand  over  her  cold  fingers.  "  I  surmised  when  I 
saw  Mrs.  Wayt  dictating  to  you,  what  it  meant." 

She  was  all  herself  again.  In  defense  of  her 
sister's  secret,  as  he  imagined  when  she  began  to 
speak,  she  rallied  her  best  forces.  Her  speech 
was  grave,  dignified,  and  direct. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  surmised.  The  truth 
is  that  Mr.  Wayt  was  taken  suddenly  ill  last  night. 
His  sermon  must  be  ready  by  this  morning. 
There  was  not  time  to  get  a  substitute.  So  my 
sister  found  his  notes.  They  were  very  full.  She 
read  them  aloud  to  me.  Nobody  else  can  make 
them  out.  I  copied  the  sermon  with  the  machine 
from  her  dictation.  You  will  understand  that  we 
would  not  like  to  have  this  spoken  of.  Good- 
evening  ! " 

She  was  beyond  reach  in  a  moment,  in  another 
beyond  call. 

March  went  back  to  the  sylvan  retreat  that 
may  be  regarded  as  the  stage  set  for  the  principal 
scenes  of  our  story.  Step  and  heart  were  light, 
and  the  same  might  be  said  of  a  brain  that 
whirled  like  a  feather  in  a  gale.  While  he  had 
been  loath  to  admit  the  gravity  of  the  misgivings 
that  had  embittered  the  slow  hours  between 
11:30  A.M.  and  7  o'clock  P.  M.  of  that  eventful 
Sunday,  he  was  keenly  alive  to  the  rapture 
of  their  removal.  What  a  boorish  bat  he  had 
been  to  suffer  a  suspicion  of  the  lofty  recti- 


144  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

tude  of  the  noblest  woman  upon  earth  to 
enter  his  mind  !  How  altogether  simple  and 
convincing  was  her  explanation  of  what  should 
have  been  no  mystery  to  any  honorable  man ! 
Yet  he  could  not  be  ashamed,  in  the  fullness  of 
his  happiness.  He  called  himself  all  the  hard 
names  in  his  vocabulary  with  cheerful  volubility, 
and  gloried  in  the  lesson  he  had  thus  learned  of 
implicit  trust  in  the  girl  he  loved.  No  accumula- 
tion of  circumstantial  evidence  or  even  the  wit- 
ness of  the  eye  should  ever  call  up  another 
shadow  of  a  shade  of  doubt.  Among  other 
occasions  for  thankfulness  was  the  recollection 
that  he  had  not  let  a  lisp  of  what  he  had  seen 
last  night  and  suspected  this  morning,  escape  him 
in  conversation  with  his  mother  and  sister.  He 
found  himself  tracing,  with  a  fine  sense  of  the 
drollery  of  the  conceit,  the  analogy  between  pros- 
trate Dagon,  sans  arms,  legs,  and  head,  and  the  sus- 
picion which  had  menaced  the  destruction  of  his 
happiness.  Mutilated,  prone,  and  harmless,  it 
lay  on  the  threshold  of  the  temple  of  love  and 
truth,  ugly  rubbish  to  be  thrust  forever  out  of 
sight. 

He  had  hardly  noticed,  in  the  ecstasy  of  relief, 
Hetty's  haste  to  be  gone  after  she  had  explained 
her  nocturnal  industry.  He  passed  as  lightly 
over  the  incoherence  that  had  replied  to  his 
question  when  he  could  see  her  again. 

"  Give  me  time  to  think !     Not  for  a  day  or 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  145 

two !  Not  until  you  hear  from  me !  "  she  had  said 
just  before  reaching  the  gate. 

He  was  shrewd  enough  to  see  how  well  taken 
was  his  vantage  ground.  She  had  not  demurred 
at  his  stipulation.  He  was  positive,  in  the 
audacity  of  youth  and  passion,  that  she  would 
never  utter  the  words  he  had  dictated.  The  turf 
under  the  tree  was  flattened  by  her  reclining 
form.  He  lay  down  upon  it,  his  arms  doubled 
under  his  head  for  a  pillow,  Thor  taking  his  place 
beside  him.  The  golden  green  changed  into  dull 
ruddy  light,  this  into  purple  ash,  and  this  into 
gray  that  was  at  first  warm,  then  cold.  The 
second  vesper  bell  had  set  the  air  to  quivering 
and  sobbed  musically  into  silence  that  embalmed 
the  memory  of  the  music.  Rapt  in  dreams,  in 
summer  fragrance,  and  in  tender  dusks,  the  lover 
lay  until  the  stars  twinkled  through  rifts  in  the 
massed  leaves.  Now  and  then,  the  far-off  roll  of 
an  organ  and  the  sweet  hymning  of  accompany- 
ing voices  were  borne  across  his  reverie,  as  the 
wanderer  through  the  twilight  of  an  August  day 
meets  waves  of  warm,  perfumed  air,  or  currents 
of  balsamic  odors  floating  from  evergreen  heights. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  moon  showed  the  edge  of 
a  coy  cheek  above  the  horizon  hills,  and  shortly 
thereafter  March  heard  the  click  of  the  garden 
gate.  Instinctively  he  put  out  his  hand  to  keep 
Thor  quiet,  an  unwarrantable  idea  that  Hetty 
might  revisit  the  spot  darting  through  his  mind. 


146  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

The  shuffling  of  feet  over  the  sward  quieted  his 
leaping  heart.  In  another  minute  he  distin- 
guished the  outlines  of  a  figure  stealing  across 
the  moonlit  spaces  separating  black  blotches  of 
shade.  As  it  neared  the  covert  he  spoke  quietly, 
not  to  alarm  the  intruder. 

"  Good-evening,  Homer." 

"  O  Lord  !  "  The  three-quarter-witted  wight 
bounded  a  foot  from  the  ground,  then  collapsed 
into  a  shaking  huddle. 

"  It  is  I— Mr.  Gilchrist,"  March  hastened  to 
add.  "  I  am  sorry  I  frightened  you." 

"Now — I  was  jes  a-lookin'  fer  a  light  I  see 
from  the  back  porch  down  this  'ere  way,"  uttered 
Homer,  in  an  agitated  drawl. 

March  could  see  the  coarse  fingers  rubbing 
against  the  backs  of  his  hands,  and  a  ray  of  light 
touched  the  pendulous  jaw. 

"  It  was  the  match  I  struck  to  light  a  cigar  I 
smoked  a  while  ago,"  he  said.  "  I  dare  say  that 
may  account  for  the  light  you  have  seen  at  other 
times." 

"  Ye-es,  sir " — dubiously.  "  I  been  saw  the 
light  lots  o'  nights,  when  I  aint  spoke  of  it. 
'Tain't  like  er  sergar.  It's  like  a  lantern  a-swing- 
ing  this  er  way  " — swaying  one  hand — "  I  dumb 
this  tree  one  night,  an'  sot  thar  till  nigh  mornin', 
a-waitin'  an'  a-watchin'  fer  it  ter  come  again. 
There's  a  man  what  tole  me  'twas  the  devil 
a-watchin'  out  for  me." 


MR.     WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  147 

"  I  am  surprised  you  try  to  catch  him.  From 
what  I  have  heard,  he  is  a  slippery  chap." 

"  No-ow — I  aint  a-feerd  on  him  fer  myself. 
Now,  I'd  be  loath  fer  him  to  worry  Miss  Hetty." 

"You  are  a  good  fellow,  Homer!  A  brave 
fellow ! "  responded  the  listener,  with  sudden 
energy.  "  When  you  do  get  on  the  track  of  the 
light,  let  me  know,  and  I'll  lend  a  hand  to  nab 
the  devil." 

"  Ye-es,  sir!  Now,  I've  been  a-turnin'  over  in 
my  mind  what  that  man  say  to  me.  He's  a  man 
as  ought  to  know  what  he's  talkin'  about.  He 
t'reatened  me  orful  a  couple  o'  times,  sence  we 
come  to  Fairhill.  Sometimes  I  can't  sleep  fer 
thinkin'  'bout  it.  '  You  stay  outen  that  orchard  ! ' 
he  say.  '  Ther'  war  a  man  murdered  thar  onct,' 
he  tell  me,  'an'  the  devil  is  a-lookin'  fer  him.  Ef 
he  come  acrost  you  he'll  ketch  you  by  a  mistake,' 
he  say.  But  then,  there's  Miss  Hetty,  you  know, 
Mr.  Gilchris'!  " 

"  What  under  heaven  has  she  to  do  with  your 
man,  or  his  devil,  or  the  light  ?  Who  is  the  man 
who  threatened  you  ?  Does  he  live  in  Fairhill  ?  " 

Homer  plucked  at  his  lower  lip  and  glanced 
apprehensively  around. 

"  I  dunno  !  "  he  answered,  in  sullen  evasion. 
"  I  met  him  on  the  street  one  day.  Two  times  I 
come  acrost  him  in  the  orchard.  Onct  he  come 
to  the  garding  gate.  That  was  the  time  he  tell 
me  'bout  the  murder  an'  the  devil." 


148  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

"  He  is  a  cruel,  rascally  liar ! "  cried  March 
indignantly.  "  And  you  don't  know  his  name  ? 
What  is  he  like  ?  Did  you  ever  speak  of  this  to 
Miss  Hetty?" 

"  No,  sir.  She  got  'nough  to  fret  her  a'ready, 
Miss  Hetty  has.  I'm  'fraid  for  her  'bout  the 
man.  She  aint  'fraid  o'  nothin'.  '  You  do  what  I 
tell  you,  Homer,'  sez  she,  'an'  I'll  stan*  between 
you  an'  harm,'  she  say.  But  she  aint  know  'bout 
the  devil.  Nor  I  aint  heerd  o'  the  murder  when 
she  tell  me  that.  That  mought  make  a  dif- 
rence." 

"  She  is  all  right,  all  the  same.  She  is  always 
right.  Mind  her,  and  you're  sure  to  be  safe. 
When  did  you  last  see  this  man  who  is  so  well 
acquainted  with  the  devil  ?  " 

An  uneasy  pause,  during  which  Homer 
cracked  each  one  of  the  knuckle-joints  in  his  left 
hand. 

"  I  dunno !  I  don'  jis  reklec' !  You  won't 
mention  him  to  Miss  Hetty — nor  to  nobody- 
will  you  please  not,  Mr.  Gilchris'  ?  He's  an  orful 
man !  He'd  get  even  with  Miss  Hetty,  some  way, 
sure's  you  born,  Mr.  Gilchris'?  '  Nurver  you  let 
on  a  word  to  her!  '  sez  he  to  me — '  or  'twill  be 
the  wustest  day  she  ever  see,'  he  sez." 

"  Why,  this  is  outrageous  !  "  ejaculated  the 
aroused  listener.  "  Do  you  suppose  I  will  allow 
this  sort  of  thing  to  go  on  ?  I  insist  upon  know- 
ing who  the  wretch  is  !  He'll  find  himself  behind 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  149 

bars  before  he  is  a  day  older,  if  I  get  hold  of 
him." 

"  Now  " — resumed  Homer,  dazed  and  dull — 
"  you'd  better  not  meddle  nor  make  with  him. 
Me'n'  Miss  Hetty,  we  could  manage  'bout  him, 
but  when  he  sot  'bout  fetchin'  the  devil  in — that 
aint  a  fa'r  shake — that  aint !  I'll  say  that  much, 
ef  I  die  fer  it — 'taint  by  no  means  'fa'r  nor 
squar ' ! " 

"  Pshaw ! "  March  laughed  in  vexed  amusement. 
"  Did  you  ever  know  the  devil  to  do  the  fair  and 
square  thing  ?  Or  any  of  the  devil's  men  ? 
Why  didn't  you  set  Mr.  Wayt  after  your  friend  ? 
It's  his  trade  to  fight  Old  Nick,  you  know." 

"Yes,  sir.  So  I  been  heerd  tell.  What's 
that  ?  " 

It  was  the  sound  of  the  gate-latch  falling  into 
the  socket,  and  firm  quick  footsteps. 

"OLord!"  whispered  Homer  again.  "Don't 
let  on  as  I've  been  here  !  " 

In  a  twinkling,  he  had  gone  up  the  tree  like  a 
cat. 

By  the  time  March  recognized  the  latest  comer, 
the  rustling  boughs  were  still.  Thor  growled 
fiercely.  His  master  advanced  a  step  into  the 
moonlight. 

"  Be  quiet ! "  to  the  dog.  "  Good-evening,  Mr. 
Wayt !  The  beauty  of  the  night  has  tempted  you 
out,  as  well  as  myself." 

"  Ah,  Mr.   Gilchrist !  " — suave   and   stately   as 


15°  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

usual.  "  As  you  say,  it  is  a  glorious  night.  I 
have  been  sitting  for  half  an  hour  with  your 
respected  parents.  Seeing  you  change  color  sud- 
denly during  the  morning  service,  and  missing 
you  from  church  this  afternoon,  I  feared  lest  you 
had  been  taken  ill,  and  so  went  over  to  inquire. 

"  Mrs.  Gilchrist  appeased  my  anxiety  by  saying 
that  yours  was  a  passing  indisposition.  I  was  the 
more  solicitous  because  I  have  suffered  all  day 
from  the  onslaught  of  my  constitutional  enemy, 
'  the  rash  '  and  crucial  headache  which  my  mother 
gave  me.  It  is  more  than  malady.  It  is  afflic- 
tion !  requiring  pagan  fortitude  and  Christian 
resignation.  There  is  some  occult  connection 
between  it  and  the  course  of  the  natural  sun  in 
the  heavens.  It  seized  me  this  morning  with  the 
rising  of  the  god  of  day  and  left  me  at  the  going 
down  of  the  same.  Mrs.  Wayt  will  have  it  that  it 
is  the  penalty  for  much  study  which,  if  not  weari- 
ness to  the  flesh,  occasionally  revenges  itself  in 
neuralgic  pangs.  I  know  no  fatigue  while  the 
oracular  rage  of  composition  is  upon  me.  Last 
night  \\.  possessed  me  !  I  wrote  the  entire  sermon 
to  which  you  listened  this  morning  between  the 
hours  of  half-past  nine  Saturday  night  and  four 
o'clock  this  morning.  In  all  that  time  I  did  not 
leave  my  desk.  The  thunder-storm  wrought 
strange,  glorious  excitement  in  my  brain.  It  was 
as  if  seven  thunders  uttered  their  voices  to  the 
ears  of  my  spirit." 


MR.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER.  151 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Wayt  prodded  holes  in  the  turf 
with  his  cane  while  speaking,  holding  it  in  his 
right  hand  almost  at  arm's  length,  in  a  straight 
line  from  his  body.  His  face  showed  chalky- 
white  in  the  moon  rays,  his  brows  and  hair  very 
black ;  his  eyes  glittered,  the  smile  upon  his  thin, 
wide-lipped  mouth  was  apparent  in  the  clearing 
radiance.  He  was  disposed  to  be  affably  loqua- 
cious to  the  heir  of  a  rich  parishioner,  and  the  pas- 
tor's "  influence  with  young  men  "  was  one  of  his 
specialties.  This  important  member  of  an  im- 
portant class  did  not  interrupt  him,  and  the  intent 
expression  of  his  figure — his  back  was  to  the 
moon — was  pleasantly  provocative  to  continued 
eloquence. 

"  The  Sabbath  has  been  superb — truly  superb  ! " 
resumed  the  orator,  pulling  out  the  cane  after  an 
unusual  artesian  feat  in  jabbing  it  into  the  earth. 
"  I  could  think  of  nothing  as  I  looked  out  at  day- 
break upon  the  brightening  face  of  nature  but 
Mrs.  Barbauld's  'rose  that's  newly  washed  by  the 
shower.'  My  spirit  put  on  wings  to  meet  the 
new  morning.  I  said,  aloud,  in  a  sort  of  divine 
transport :  '  This  is  the  day  the  Lord  hath  made. 
Let  us  rejoice  and  be  glad  in  it ! '  " 

"  Do  you  ever  preach  extemporaneously,  Mr. 
Wayt?"  asked  March. 

The  sentence  passed  his  lips  almost  unawares. 
In  his  perplexity  and  disdain,  he  spoke  at  random. 
He  could  not  stand  here  all  night,  the  victim  of 


I52  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

the  modern  Coleridge.  He  recollected,  while  the 
flowing  periods  went  over  him,  that  the  Rev. 
Percy's  admirers  likened  him  to  the  long-winded 
poet.  The  girl  of  his  heart  in  esse  and  of  his 
home  in  posse  might  be  Mr.  Wayt's  wife's  sister, 
but  Mr.  Wayt  himself  was  an  imposing  liar  and 
hypocrite,  who  disgraced  the  coat  on  his  back. 
The  sooner  she  was  removed  from  his  house  the 
better.  He  credited  poor  Tony  with  more  sense 
than  he  was  reputed  to  possess,  in  that  he 
doubted,  inferentially,  his  employer's  powers  as 
an  exorcist. 

"  Now  and  then,  my  dear  sir,  now  and  then ! 
But  I  long  ago  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
natural  fluency  is  a  lure  to  indolence.  Whatever 
is  worth  the  hearing  should  be  worth  careful  prep- 
aration. The  vice  versa  occurs  to  you,  of  course. 
I  would  give  my  audience  ripe  matter,  the  slow 
accretion  of  amber-clear  thought,  not  the  fervid 
exudation  of  momentary  excitement.  Every  line 
of  this  morning's  sermon  was  written  out  in  full. 
The  reporter  of  a  New  York  paper  took  it  from 
my  hand  as  I  descended  from  the  pulpit.  '  Mr. 
Wayt ! '  he  said,  '  that  discourse  can  be  printed 
without  the  alteration  of  a  word.  It  is  perfect ! '  " 

The  man's  supreme  egotism  pushed  March  into 
indiscretion,  which  he  afterward  considered  dis- 
honorable. 

"  You  never  use  the  typewriter,  then  ?  " 

"  Occasionally,"    carelessly.     "  I     might     say, 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  153 

semi-occasionally.  But  not  when  I  am  in  the 
Spirit — as  I  reverently  believe  I  was  last  night. 
Mrs.  Wayt  is  a  deft  operator  on  it.  She  learned 
expressly  to  copy  my  sermons  and  lectures  for 
the  press.  What  will  not  a  good  wife  do  for  her 
husband  ?" 

"  What,  indeed  ?  "  assented  March  fervently. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  wifely  equivocations  to 
which  he  had  hearkened  on  the  way  to  church, 
and,  with  genuine  satisfaction,  how  straight- 
forward was  Hetty's  simple  tale  of  the  sermon- 
writing  episode.  Again  he  resolved  to  tear  her 
out  of  this  web  of  needless  deceits  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment. 

He  left  the  vicinity  of  the  apple  tree,  partly  to 
shake  off  his  companion,  partly  to  allow  Homer 
opportunity  to  escape.  Once  he  had  his  lips 
open  to  intimate  his  presence  in  the  orchard  at 
midnight,  and  that  he  had  seen  the  light  in  the 
study.  The  reverend  humbug  should  be  warned 
of  the  danger  of  gratuitous  and  wholesale  lying. 
He  withheld  the  caution.  It  was  not  his  province 
to  reprove  a  man  so  much  his  senior,  and — he 
added  mentally — such  an  old  offender. 

Mr.  Wayt  sauntered  on  with  him  to  the*  gate 
opening  into  the  Gilchrist  shrubbery,  bade  him 
"  good-night,"  and  marched  back.  March  leaned 
upon  the  fence,  seeming  to  stare  at  the  moon, 
and  enjoying  a  nightcap  cigar,  until  the  long, 
black  figure  entered  the  parsonage  garden.  While 


154  MR     WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

the  young  man  lingered  he  saw  Homer  drop, 
monkeylike,  to  the  earth  and  skulk  homeward, 
keeping  in  the  shadow  when  he  could. 

"  I  would  sooner  take  the  fool's  chances  of 
evading  the  devil  than  his  pompous  and  pious 
master's  ! "  soliloquized  Mrs.  Gilchrist's  son. 

Hetty  was  dusting  the  big  parlors  next  morn- 
ing, and  making  ineffectual  attempts  to  evolve 
coziness  out  of  carpeted  space,  when  a  cough  at 
the  door  attracted  her  notice. 

Homer  stood  there,  military  cap  in  hand,  and 
wet  up  to  the  knees  with  dew.  His  love  for 
flowers  was  a  passion,  only  surpassed  by  his 
exquisite  tenderness  for  dumb  animals  and  chil- 
dren. Hetty  had  said  of  her prot/gtf  that  he  had 
the  soul  of  a  painter-poet,  but  that  the  wires  were 
cut  between  spirit  and  speech.  He  had  been  on 
his  knees  since  there  was  light  enough  to  show 
the  difference  between  weeds  and  precious  plants, 
cleaning  out  the  garden  borders. 

"  Now  "  (fumbling  with  his  shabby  headgear), 
"  I  was  wishful  fer  to  speak  with  ye  before  enny- 
body  else  came  down.  Leastways,  Mary  Ann, 
she's  in  the  kitchen,  but  don't  count,  bein'  busy 
an'  out  of  the  way." 

Hetty  smiled  languidly.  Her  eyes  were  heavy- 
lidded  ;  her  motions  slow  for  her.  She  had  lain 
all  night,  staring  into  the  blackness  above  her, 
now  crying  to  a  deaf  heaven  to  show  her  a  plain 
path  for  her  feet,  now  trembling  with  ecstatic 


MR.    WAYTS   WIPES  SISTER.  155 

anguish  in  the  recollection  of  the  interview 
that  opened  a  vista  of  Eden  she  yet  dared  not 
enter. 

"  Come  what  may,  he  has  called  me  darling !  " 
she  was  thinking  for  the  hundredth  time,  as  the 
interruption  came. 

"What  is  it,  Homer?  Are  your  flowers  all 
right  ?  " 

He  ventured,  after  a  glance  at  his  feet,  to  step 
upon  the  unbroken  breadths  of  Brussels. 

"Now — I  was  up  a  tree  in  the  orchard  las' 
night.  An'  Mr.  Gilchris' — the  young  one — and 
Mr.  Wayt,  they  were  a-talkin'  on  the  groun'  under 
the  tree " 

Hetty  wheeled  upon  him  with  blazing  eyes  and 
cheeks. 

"You  were  in  the  orchard!  In  what  tree? 
When  ?  But  no  ! "  Her  excitement  subsided  as 
quickly  as  it  had  arisen.  "  You  were  in  the  house 
when  I  came  in.  Go  on!"  She  drew  a  long 
breath. 

Homer  twiddled  his  thumbs  in  the  crown  of 
his  cap.  His  speech  could  never  be  hurried.  If 
urged  to  talk  fast,  he  was  dumb. 

"  Now,  I  was  up  in  that  big  tree  where  the  pic- 
ter  was  painted.  Mr.  Gilchris' — the  young  Mr. 
Gilchris' — he  war  a-lyin'  onto  the  grass  when  I 
came  along.  'Twar  after  you  had  gone  upstairs — 
nigh  onto  ten  o'clock,  I  guess,  or  may  be  nine — 
I  aint  certain.  I'd  saw  the  same  light,  an',  for 


156  MR.    WAYT'S   WIPES  SISTER. 

all  them  boys  ken  say,  I've  been  saw  it  many  a 
time " 

"  Never  mind  the  light."  Hetty  said  it  pa- 
tiently. "  Tell  me  how  you  happened  to  climb 
the  tree." 

"Now,  Mr.  Gilchris' — the  young  gentleman — 
he  spoke  very  civil  an'  kind  to  me,  an'  we  war 
talkin'  quite  a  spell,  when  I  heerd  Mr.  Wayt 
a-comin',  an'  I  dumb  the  tree  so's  he  wouldn't 
see  me,  an'  may  be  go  fur  me,  you  know.  An' 
while  I  war  in  the  tree  I  heerd  him  a-tellin'  Mr. 
Gilchris' — I  meantersay  the  young  Mr.  Gilchris' — 
how  he'd  sot  up  'tell  daybreak,  four  o'clock  Sat'- 
day  night,  a  figurin'  onto  his  sermon  what  he 
preached  on  Sunday " 

"Homer!" 

"Yes,  ma'am!  He  war  talkin'  very  high 
Scotch,  mos'ly  like  he  does  all  times,  'specially  to 
comp'ny-folks,  but  I  got  the  sense  of  that  much. 
He  said  as  how  he  an'  the  thunder-storm  they 
figured  up  the  sermon  together,  near's  I  could 
make  out.  An'  Mr.  Gilchris' — the  young  gentle- 
man— he  said  precious  little — an'  Mr.  Wayt,  he 
splurged  out  considerable  'bout  seein'  the  sun  rise 
an'  so  forth,  an'  'bout  his  headache  comin'  on  an' 
a-goin  off  with  the  sun.  An'  then  the  two  of 
'em  walked  off  quite  frien'ly,  an'  soon's  as  they 
was  out  o'  sight,  I  lighted  out  and  come  home." 

Hetty  was  sitting  upon  the  sofa,  too  sick  and 
weak  to  stand. 


MR.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTEJt.  15? 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  heard  all  this?  Did 
Mr.  Gilchrist  know  you  were  in  the  tree?" 

"  Now — he  see  me  go  up.  I  ast  him  not  to  let 
on  to  him.  But  what  I  come  to  say  war,  'taint 
noways  nor  nurver  safe  to  say  what  aint  jes'  true, 
jes'  for  the  sake  of  talkin'  big,  an'  Mr.  Wayt,  bein' 
a  edicated  man,  he'd  ought  to  be  tole  that. 
'T'ould  'a'  been  better  not  to  say  nuthin'  'bout 
Sat 'day  night  'thout  somebody  ast  h'm." 

"  There ! "  His  young  mistress  put  out  her 
hand  imperatively.  "  That  will  do.  Don't  speak 
of  this  to  anybody  else.  Go  back  to  your  work." 

On  their  way  to  school,  the  twins  left  a  thin 
envelope  at  Judge  Gilchrist 's  door.  It  was 
addressed  to  March. 

"  I  have  heard  what  was  the  substance  of  Mr. 
Wayt's  conversation  with  you  last  night.  Know- 
ing you  as  I  do,  I  am  sure,  that  in  mercy  to  the 
innocent,  you  will  not  let  it  go  further.  I  recog- 
nize in  the  incident  one  more  added  to  the  many 
reasons  why  I  can  never  be  more  than 

"  Your  friend, 

H.  ALLING." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MARCH  GILCHRIST'S  name  was  brought  up  to 
the  sewing  room  at  eleven  o'clock  Monday  morn- 
ing. Hetty  was  cutting  out  shirts  for  the  twins 
at  a  table  of  Homer's  contrivance  and  manufac- 
ture. Her  face  was  flushed,  perhaps  with  stooping 
over  the  board,  when  she  looked  up. 

"  Please  say  that  I  am  particularly  engaged  this 
morning,  Mary  Ann,  and  beg  to  be  excused." 

"My  dear!"  expostulated  Mrs.  Wayt.  "He 
has  probably  called  with  a  message  from  his 
mother  or  sister." 

"  In  that  case  ask  him  to  leave  it  with  you, 
Mary  Ann,  unless  you  care  to  go  down,  Frances  ?  " 

"  He  said  '  Miss  Ailing'  most  particular,"  ven- 
tured Mary  Ann. 

"  Then  take  my  message  just  as  I  gave  it,  if  you 
please." 

"  Did  you  know,"  pursued  Miss  Ailing,  when 
the  girl  had  gone,  "  that  Perry  is  an  inch  taller 
than  his  brother?  His  arms  are  longer,  too. 
They  were  exactly  the  same  size  until  this  sum- 
mer." 

Mrs.  Wayt  eyed  her  sister  with  a  helpless, 
distraught  air,  while  the  scissors  flashed  and 


MR.    IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  159 

slipped  through  the  muslin,  and  the  worker  ap- 
peared to  have  no  interest  in  life  beyond  the 
manipulation  of  both. 

"  Dear,"  she  said  timidly  at  length,  without 
noticing  the  other's  query.  "  I  never  blame  you 
for  any  action,  however  singular  it  may  seem  to 
me.  I  know  you  always  have  some  excellent 
reason  for  what  you  do  or  say.  But  the  Gilchrists 
are  our  best  neighbors,  and  are  leading  people  in 
the  church.  It  would  be  unwise  to  offend  them. 
Do  you  object  to  telling  me  why  you  would  not 
see  Mr.  March  Gilchrist  ?  " 

Hetty  shifted  the  pattern  to  a  corner  of  the 
stuff,  turned  it  upside  down  and  regarded  it  sol- 
emnly, her  head  on  one  side.  Then  she  pinned 
it  fast  and  fell  again  to  cutting. 

"  I  do  object — decidedly ! "  she  said  composedly. 
"  But  it  is  perhaps  best  that  you  should  know  the 
truth.  It  may  prevent  unpleasant  complications. 
Mr.  Gilchrist  did  me  the  honor  last  evening  to 
offer  to  marry  me,  and  I  refused  him." 

"  Hetty  Ailing !  " 

"  That  is  likely  to  remain  my  name.  I  supposed 
that  you  would  be  surprised.  /  was  !  "  as  coolly 
as  before.  "  I  trust  to  your  honor  to  keep  Mr. 
Gilchrist 's  secret,  even  from  Mr.  Wayt.  It  is  not 
a  matter  that  concerns  anybody  but  ourselves. 
And  we  will  not  allude  to  it  again." 

Struck  by  something  unnatural  in  the  girl's 
perfect  composure,  the  tender-hearted  matron 


160  MR.    WAYT'S  WIFE'S  SISTER. 

leaned  forward  to  stroke  the  head  bowed  over 
the  work. 

"There  is  something  behind  all  this,  Hetty, 
dear.  I  am  sure  of  it.  It  would  make  me  very 
happy  to  see  you  married  to  such  a  man  as  March 
Gilchrist.  What  objection  can  you  have  to  him 
as  a  suitor?" 

"  The  very  question  which  he  asked  and  I 
answered.  Excuse  me  for  reminding  you  that 
nobody  else  has  the  right  to  press  it." 

The  rebuff  did  not  end  the  discussion.  The 
matter  was,  in  Mrs.  Wayt's  mind,  too  grave  to  be 
lightly  dismissed. 

"  Don't  be  angry  with  me !  "  staying  the  prog- 
ress of  the  clicking  shears,  that  her  sister  might 
be  compelled  to  hear  what  she  said,  "  I  love  you 
too  dearly  to  let  you  make  a  blunder  you  may 
regret  for  a  lifetime.  March  is  a  noble  young 
fellow,  of  unexceptionable  family  and  character. 
His  disposition  is  excellent ;  his  manners  are 
charming  ;  he  has  talent,  energy " 

"  Spare  me  the  rest  of  the  catalogue,  please  !  " 
retorted  Hetty  curtly.  "  It  is  not  like  you, 
Francis,  to  force  a  disagreeable  subject  upon  me. 
And  this  is  one  of  the  least  agreeable  you  could 
select.  Discussion  of  it  is  indelicate  and  a  breach 
of  confidence  on  my  part — and  altogether  useless 
on  yours." 

Yet  she  was  especially  gentle  and  affection- 
ate with  her  sister  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  On 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  161 

bidding  her  "good-night"  she  embraced  her 
fervently. 

"  I  love  you  dearly ;  better  this  minute  than 
ever  before,  if  I  was  so  savage  this  morning,"  she 
said,  with  shining  eyes,  to  March's  champion. 

Upstairs  she  read  "  Locksley  Hall "  through  to 
Hester,  who  was  sleepless,  until  twelve  o'clock. 
Not  until  the  clock  had  struck  the  half-hour  after 
midnight  was  Hetty  free  to  take  from  her  pocket 
and  look  at  a  letter  the  afternoon  mail  had 
brought.  The  superscription  was  in  a  hand  she 
had  seen  in  notes  to  Hester  and  upon  the  fly- 
leaves of  books,  and  it  was  still  sealed.  She  sat 
looking  at  it,  as  it  lay  within  the  open  palm  of  a 
lax  hand  for  a  good  (or  bad)  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Hester's  regurgitate  breathing — worse  to-night 
than  usual — was  the  only  sound  in  the  chamber. 
Now  and  then  she  raised  her  hands  strugglingly, 
as  if  dreaming,  but  she  slept  on. 

To  open  that  letter  and  take  the  contents  into 
her  empty  heart  would  be  to  the  lonely  orphan 
Heaven  on  earth.  It  was  long,  for  the  envelope 
held  several  sheets.  It  was  eloquent,  for  she  had 
heard  him  talk  upon  the  theme  set  forth  in  every 
line.  She  had  will-force  sufficient  to  conceal  from 
the  sister,  whose  heart  would  be  broken  by  the 
truth,  her  reasons  for  refusing  to  link  hers  with 
the  unsmirched  name  of  the  man  she  loved.  She 
was  not  strong  enough  to  put  her  finger  under 
the  flap  of  that  envelope  and  read  a  single  line, 


162  MR.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER. 

and  then  persist  in  doing  right.  Perhaps,  in  spite 
of  the  repulse  of  the  morning,  he  had  again 
called  her  "  darling! " 

She  durst  not  risk  the  seeing  ;  she  had  strength 
given  her  to  keep  the  resolution,  but  she  did  no 
more  that  night.  The  answer  must  wait  until 
morning.  The  letter  was  hidden  under  the  pil- 
low, and  her  hand  touched  it  while  she  slept  and 
while  she  lay  awake.  In  the  still,  purple  dawn, 
she  arose  quietly,  not  to  disturb  Hester,  dressed 
herself  and  knelt  for  a  brief  prayer,  such  as  the 
busiest  member  of  the  household  had  time  to 
offer.  While  she  prayed  she  held  the  unopened 
letter  to  her  heart.  Arising,  she  kissed  it  linger- 
ingly. 

"  God  bless  my  love  ! "  she  whispered. 

With  steady  fingers  she  wrote  upon  the  reverse 
of  the  envelope :  "  P  cannot  read  this.  Do  not 
write  again"  slipped  it  into  a  larger  cover,  ad- 
dressed it,  and,  before  the  family  was  astir,  sent 
Homer  with  it  to  the  nearest  letter  box. 

She  had  acted  bravely,  and,  she  believed,  de- 
cisively, but  she  had  blundered  withal.  An 
unopened  letter,  unaccompanied  by  a  word  of 
extenuation  of  the  flagrant  discourtesy,  might 
damp  the  ardor  of  the  most  adoring  lover.  Yet 
March's  eyes  were  lit  by  a  ray  of  affectionate 
amusement  in  receiving  back  this,  the  first  love 
letter  he  had  ever  penned.  He  kissed  the  one- 
line  sentence  before  putting  the  envelope  away. 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  163 

"  Perhaps  she  is  afraid  of  herself !  "  May  had 
suggested  sagely,  Apropos  of  Hetty's  avoidance  of 
his  visits. 

The  bright-natured  suitor's  conclusion,  after 
reading  what  was  meant  as  a  quietus  to  his  ad- 
dresses, was  not  dissimilar.  If  the  case  were 
hopeless  she  would  have  written  nothing.  Never- 
theless, he  bowed  to  the  laconic :  "  Do  not  write 
again."  He  did  more  than  she  had  commanded. 
Without  attempting  to  see  Hetty  again,  he  es- 
corted his  sister  in  the  second  week  of  July  to 
Long  Branch,  and  stayed  there  a  fortnight,  then 
went  with  her  to  Mt.  Desert  for  ten  days  more. 

The  malign  influence  of  a  dog-day  drought  was 
upon  Fairhill  when  the  pair  returned.  The 
streets  were  deep  in  dust,  the  sun,  a  red  and 
rayless  ball,  had  rolled  from  east  to  west,  and 
taken  his  own  time  in  doing  it,  and  was  staining 
to  a  dingy  crimson  horizon-vapors  that  looked 
as  dry  as  the  dust,  as  brother  and  sister  paused 
upon  the  piazza  for  a  look  over  the  familiar  land- 
scape. 

"  It  is  stifling  after  the  seashore ! "  breathed 
May.  "  But  it  is  home  !  I  am  glad  to  be  back !  " 

"  And  I — always !  " 

March  said  it,  in  stooping,  hat  in  hand,  to  kiss 
his  mother.  There  was  the  ring  of  sincerity  in 
his  voice ;  his  eyes  were  placid.  He  had  come 
home  to  her  cured  of  an  ill-starred  fancy  for  an 
ineligible  girl.  There  was  no  sign  of  anything 


164  MR.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER. 

more  than  neighborly  interest  in  his  face  when 
May  asked  at  dinner-time  how  the  Wayts  were. 

"  Well,  I  believe,"  replied  Mrs.  Gilchrist.  "  I 
have  seen  comparatively  little  of  them  while  you 
were  away,  except  at  church.  It  has  been  too 
hot  for  visiting.  Yesterday  I  took  Hester  out  to 
drive.  She  misses  you  sadly,  May.  She  is 
thinner  and  has  less  color  than  when  you  went 
away." 

"  Dear  little  Queen  Mab !  "  said  Hester's  friend. 
"  I  must  have  her  over  to-morrow  to  spend  the 
day.  I  have  some  books  and  sketches  for  her. 
And  Hetty  ?  " 

"Is  as  busy  as  usual,  Hester  tells  me.  She 
goes  out  very  little,  I  believe.  The  young 
people  hereabouts  call  her  a  recluse." 

The  unconscious  judge  came  to  the  relief  of 
all  parties. 

"  Mr.  Wayt's  congregation  continues  large,"  he 
remarked.  "  He  preached  a  truly  remarkable 
sermon  last  Sunday.  At  this  rate  we  will  have 
to  pull  down  our  church  and  build  a  larger  by 
next  year." 

The  wife  looked  gratified.  It  was  much  to 
have  her  husband  speak  of  "  our  church." 

May  was  content  to  wait  for  the  morrow's  meet- 
ing with  her  pet.  Hester  was  wild  with  impa- 
tience to  be  again  with  her  worshiped  friend. 
Hetty  might  remonstrate,  and  her  mother  entreat 
her  not  to  intrude  upon  the  family  on  the  evening 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTEK.  165 

of  the  travelers'  arrival.  The  spoiled  child  was 
unmanageable.  She  could  not  sleep  a  wink,  she 
protested,  until  she  had  kissed  Miss  May,  and  ex- 
changed reports  of  the  weeks  separating  them 
from  the  dear  everyday  intercourse.  She  would 
take  with  her  the  portfolio  she  had  almost  worked 
herself  ill  to  fill  with  what  May  must  think  showed 
diligent  endeavor  to  improve. 

"  Then,  there  is  the  great  news  to  tell !  " 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  well  to  wait  a  while  before 
speaking  of  that  ?  "  dissuaded  the  mother. 

"It  is  a  week  old,  already !"  Hester  pouted, 
"  and  I  said  never  a  word  to  Mrs.  Gilchrist  yester- 
day. '  The  Seasons '  " — the  ntot  de  famille  at  the 
Gilchrists'  for  brother  and  sister — "  are  our  only 
own  friends,  mamma.  You  can  trust  them  to  hold 
their  tongues !  " 

"  What  seems  a  great  event  to  us  will  be  small' 
to  them,"  cautioned  Mrs.  Wayt — then  gave  Hester 
her  way. 

Nine  o'clock  saw  her  in  Homer's  charge  on  the 
orchard  road,  the  shortest,  as  it  was  the  most 
secluded,  to  the  Gilchrist  place. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  me,  Tony  ?  "  she  aroused 
from  a  happy,  expectant  reverie  to  ask,  midway. 

The  aftermath  of  the  June  mowing  was  tall  by 
now,  and  the  chair  was  almost  hidden  in  it. 

"  Now — I  don'  keer  fur  to  take  ye  near  that  big 
tree.  Taint  wholesome  nor  proper!"  grunted 
the  charioteer.  He  was  slightly  afraid  of  the 


1 66  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

testy  little  damsel,  and  took  on  doughty  airs  at 
times  to  disprove  the  fact.  "  We'll  soon  git  inter 
the  path  agi'n." 

"  But  I  won't  stand  this ! "  cried  Hester,  irate. 
"  Go  back  to  the  path !  Not  wholesome !  not 
proper !  What  do  you  mean  !  " 

"Now — I  seen  the  light  there  oftener'n  any- 
wheres else" —  Homer  was  beginning,  when  they 
were  hailed  by  a  well-known  voice. 

"  What  are  you  doing  over  there  ? "  called 
March. 

"  Swimming  for  our  lives,"  returned  Hester. 
"Won't  you  dive,  and  drag  me  out  by  the  hair  of 
my  head  ?  " 

Her  tone  was  tremulous  with  delight.  As  he 
took  her  hand,  it  quivered  like  a  poplar  leaf  in  his 
large,  cordial  grasp.  He  was  fond  of  Hester  on 
her  own  account,  fonder  of  her  because  he  linked 
her  with  Hetty.  He  had  strolled  down  the  street 
with  his  cigar  after  giving  his  mother  a  detailed 
account  of  the  pleasure  making  of  the  last  three 
weeks.  He  felt  the  heat  inland  to  be  oppressive 
after  the  surf  breeze.  His  mother  was  glad  that 
his  saunter  was  not  in  the  direction  of  the  parson- 
age. She  knew  nothing  of  the  short  cut  from  the 
back  street,  or  with  what  ease  an  athlete  of  six- 
and-twenty  could  vault  a  five-barred  fence.  Be- 
sides, was  not  her  boy  a  cured  and  discharged 
patient ! 

The  meeting  with  Hester,  if  not  the  best  thing 


MR.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER.  167 

he  had  hoped  for,  was  so  much  better  than  a  sol- 
itary ramble  in  dream-haunted  grounds  that  he 
greeted  her  joyously.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
the  idea  had  come  to  him  of  making  a  confidante 
of  the  keen-witted,  deep-hearted  child,  but  it  sud- 
denly took  the  shape  of  determination. 

"  Going  to  see  May  ! "  He  echoed  her  reply  to 
his  next  question.  "  She  is  tired  out,  and  has  gone 
to  her  room  by  this.  She  means  to  claim  you  for 
the  whole  of  to-morrow.  Give  me  a  little  chat  in 
our  arbor  instead,  and  I  will  take  you  home.  I 
have  not  seen  you  for  an  age,  and  I  have  some- 
thing very  interesting  to  me  and  important  to 
you,  to  say  to  you." 

She  laughed  up  in  his  face  in  sheer  pleasure. 

"  And  I  have  something  particularly  interesting 
to  me,  and  not  important  to  you,  to  tell  in  return. 
We  have  an  event  in  our  family — an  agreeable 
happening  as  to  results,  although  it  comes  by  a 
dark  and  crooked  road — or  so  mamma  persists  in 
saying." 

March  had  propelled  her  into  the  open  track 
and  stopped  as  she  said  this  to  lean  forward  and 
peer  into  the  saucy  face.  A  disagreeable — an 
absurd — thrill  passed  over  him.  Had  he  lost 
Hetty  ? 

"  An  event !    Accomplished  or  prospective  ?  " 

"  Both  !  "  chuckled  Hester. 

"  Is  it  an  engagement  ?  "  bringing  out  the  word 
courageously. 


1 68  MR.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER. 

The  question  was  never  answered.  A  vigorous 
onward  push  had  brought  them  into  the  moonlit 
area  surrounding  the  king  apple  tree.  Thor 
rushed  forward,  bellowing  ferociously  at  a  long 
black  body  that  lay  half  under,  half  beyond  the 
dipping  outward  branches,  now  weighted  almost 
to  the  ground  with  growing  fruit. 

"  Homer ! "  shouted  March  to  the  figure  retreat- 
ing toward  the  garden.  "  Come  back  !  hurry !  " 
And,  hastily,  to  Hester :  "  I  will  send  you  home 
with  him  and  go  for  the  police.  Don't  be 
frightened.  It  is  only  a  drunken  tramp,  or  may 
be  a  sleeper.  In  either  case  he  cannot  stay  here. 
These  are  my  father's  grounds." 

Hester  had  not  uttered  a  sound,  but  the  slight 
figure,  bent  toward  the  recumbent  man,  had  a 
strained  intensity  of  expression  words  could  not 
have  conveyed.  Her  eyes  were  fixed,  as  by  the 
fascination  of  horrified  dread — one  small  hand 
plucked  oddly  at  her  throat. 

"  Take  her  home,  Homer  !  "  March  ordered, 
"and  say  nothing  to  alarm  the  ladies.  I'll  attend 
to  him  !  " 

"No!  no!  NO!"  shrilled  Hester  in  an  unearthly 
tone  that  made  him  start.  "  You  must  go  home ! 
you  !  you  !  and  say  nothing  !  tell  nobody  !  O  God 
of  mercy,  it  has  come  at  last !  Don't  touch  him  ! " 
her  voice  rising  into  a  husky  shriek.  For,  part- 
ing the  boughs,  March  passed  to  the  head  of  the 
prostrate  man,  and  stooped  to  raise  him.  His 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  169 

quick  eye  had  perceived  that  he  was  well  dressed 
and  no  common  tramp  in  figure,  also  that  he  had 
lain,  not  fallen,  where  he  was  found.  In  bending 
to  take  hold  of  him,  he  detected,  even  in  the 
intensity  of  his  excitement,  the  peculiar,  heavy, 
close  odor  of  drugs  that  had  hung  in  the  air  on 
the  Fourth  of  July  night.  In  company  with  a 
policeman,  our  young  artist  had  once  visited 
a  Chinese  "  opium  dive  "  in  New  York,  and  he 
recognized  the  smell  now. 

Homer  was  beside  him,  and  lent  intelligent  aid. 

" Now"  he  drawled,  without  the  slightest  evi- 
dence of  alarm,  "  /mos'ly  lif's  him  up  ^-fashion  !  " 

The  action  brought  the  features  into  a  rift  of 
moonlight. 

"  Great  Heavens !  "  broke  from  March  in  a 
low  tone  of  horror  and  dismay.  "  It  is  Mr. 
Wayt !  " 

Laying  him  on  the  turf  he  went  back  to  Hester 
and  seized  the  bar  of  her  chair. 

"  You  must  go  home  !  You  must  not  see  him, 
my  poor  child  !  It  is  your  father,  and  he  is  very 
ill — unconscious.  Not  a  moment  is  to  be  lost.  I 
must  go  for  a  doctor  immediately ! " 

"  Let  go!" 

Beside  herself  with  fury,  she  actually  struck  at 
the  hand  grasping  the  propeller;  her  eyes  flashed 
fire ;  her  accents,  hardly  louder  than  a  wheezing 
whisper,  were  jerky  gasps,  painful  to  hear. 

"  Let  go,  I  say !  and  do  you  go  to  your  safe, 


170  MR.    WAYT'S   WIPES  SISTER. 

decent  home,  as  I  told  you  !  Tony  and  I  are 
used  to  this  sort  of  thing  ! " 

"  Hester !  you  do  not  know  what  you  are 
saying ! "  March  came  around  and  faced  her, 
trying  to  quiet  her  by  cold,  stern  authority. 

It  was  thrown  away.  She  raved  on — still  tear- 
ing away  with  her  tiny  fierce  hands  at  her 
heaving  throat  as  if  to  give  speech  freer  vent. 

"  I  do  know — oh,  we  are  graduates  in  these  frol- 
icsome escapades !  It  is  inconsiderate  in  him — " 
with  a  horrid  laugh — "  to  give  his  wife,  his 
wife's  sister,  and  the  family  factotum  such  a  job 
as  carrying  him  all  this  way.  To  do  him  justice, 
he  seldom  forgets  the  decencies  so  entirely.  If  I 
had  my  way,  he  should  lie  here  all  night.  Only 
his  wife  would  come  out  and  stay  with  him. 
What  are  you  staring  at  me  for,  Mr.  Gilchrist  ? 
Here  is  our  family  skeleton !  Does  it  frighten 
you  out  of  your  wits  ?  " 

Her  croaks  of  laughter  theatened  dissolution  to 
the  fragile  frame.  It  was  an  awful,  a  repulsive 
exhibition. 

"It  is  you  who  have  lost  yours!"  rejoined 
March  gravely.  "  Your  father  may  be  dying,  for 
aught  you  know.  A  hundred  men  fell  in  the 
streets  of  New  York  to-day,  overcome  by  the  heat 
— and  we  are  wasting  precious  minutes  in  wild, 
nonsensical  talk.  If  you  will  let  Homer  take  you 
to  the  house,  and  compose  yourself  sufficiently  to 
prepare  your  mother  for  the  shock  of  seeing  her 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  171 

husband  brought  in  insensible,  we  may  save  him 
yet.  Go  !  and  send  Homer  back  at  once." 

The  wild  eyes  surveyed  him  piercingly ;  with  a 
low,  meaning  laugh,  she  sank  back  among  her 
cushions. 

"  I  think" — she  said  distinctly  and  deliberately 
— "  that  you  are  the  best  man  God  ever  made ! 
Go  on,  Tony!" 

Left  alone  with  the  unconscious  man,  March 
stooped  and  rolled  him  entirely  over.  He  had 
been  lying,  face  downward,  his  cheek  to  the 
sward  ;  one  arm  was  by  his  side,  the  other  was 
thrown  in  a  natural  position  above  his  head. 
His  pulse  was  almost  normal,  although  somewhat 
sluggish ;  his  respiration  heavy,  but  not  stertor- 
ous :  his  complexion  was  not  sanguine.  His 
breath  and,  March  fancied,  his  whole  body  reeked 
of  opium.  March  shook  him  gently.  He  slept 
on.  With  a  disgustful  shiver,  he  forced  himself 
to  pass  an  arm  under  his  head  and  lift  it  to  his 
knee.  There  was  no  change  in  the  limp  lethargy. 
The  young  man  laid  him  down,  and,  rising,  stood 
off  and  looked  at  the  pitiable  wreck.  Hester's 
frenzied  tirade  had  disabused  the  listener's  mind 
of  the  suspicion  of  suicide.  He  could  no  longer 
doubt  that  here  was  the  unraveling  of  the  com- 
plex design  that  had  vexed  his  heart  and  head. 
The  popular  preacher  was  not  the  first  of  brilliant 
parts  and  high  position  who  had  fallen  a  victim  to 
a  debasing  and  insidious  habit,  but  his  skill  and 


I72  MR.    IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

effrontery  in  concealing  the  truth  were  remarkable. 
Yet — might  not  March  have  divined  the  nature  of 
the  mystery  before  this  revelation  ?  The  peculiar 
brilliancy  of  the  deep-set  eyes ;  his  variable  spirits; 
his  fluent  and,  at  times,  erratic  speech  ;  the  very 
character  of  his  pulpit  eloquence — might  have 
betrayed  him  to  an  expert.  His  wife's  nervous 
vigilance  and  eager  assiduity  of  devotion — above 
all,  the  episode  of  the  midnight  toilers,  and  the 
conflicting  stories  of  the  need  of  that  toil — finally 
— and  he  recalled  it  with  a  bursting  heart — Hetty's 
declaration  to  her  lover  that  there  were  insur- 
mountable obstacles  to  their  union — were  as  clear 
as  daylight  now.  The  sudden  illness  of  that 
memorable  Saturday  night  was  stupor  like  that 
which  now  chained  the  slave  of  appetite  to  the 
earth. 

How  often  and  with  what  excess  of  anguish  the 
revolting  scene  had  been  enacted  only  the  two 
unhappy  sisters  knew,  unless  the  still  more  hap- 
less daughter  were  in  the  secret.  Her  wail,  "  Oh, 
God  of  mercy !  it  has  come  at  last !  "  was  a  key 
to  depths  of  suspenseful  endurance  and  labyrinths 
of  unavailing  deception. 

Unavailing,  for  the  instant  of  detection  was 
the  beginning  of  the  end.  The  man  was  ruined 
beyond  redemption.  A  whisper  of  his  infirmity 
would  be  the  loss  of  place,  reputation,  and  liveli- 
hood, and  his  innocent  family  would  go  down 
quick  into  the  pit  with  him.  This  was  the  vision 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  1 73 

of  impending  gloom  that  had  disturbed  what 
should  be  sunny  deeps  in  the  sweetest  eyes  in  the 
world  to  him.  This  was  the  almost  certain  pros- 
pect that  made  her  write,  "  I  can  never  be  more 
than  your  friend  !  " 

The  Gilchrist  was  clean,  honest  blood.  Hetty 
testified  her  appreciation  of  this  truth  by  refusing 
to  marry  him.  He  could  think  how  his  mother 
would  look  when  she  had  heard  the  story  and 
how  Fairhill  gossip  would  gloat  over  the  "  newest 
thing  in  clerical  scandals  !  " 

Why  should  it  be  made  public?  Why  should 
he  not  help  to  keep  it  quiet  instead  of  pulling 
down  ruin  upon  the  helpless  and  unoffending  ? 
Hetty  had  written,  "  In  mercy  to  the  inno- 
cent." He  seemed  to  hear  her  say  it  now,  in 
his  ear. 

A  faint  melodious  chime  just  vibrated  through 
the  sultry  air.  The  fine  bell  of  the  "  Old  First " 
had  struck  the  half  hour.  The  church  in  which 
he  was  baptized  ;  the  church  of  his  mother's  love 
and  prayers !  At  thought  of  the  pulpit  desecrated 
by  this  fellow's  feet,  a  rush  of  indignant  contempt 
surged  up  to  his  lips. 

"  Sacrilegious  dog  !  "  he  muttered,  touching 
the  motionless  heap  with  his  foot. 

Homer  shambled  back  out  of  breath.  He  had 
brought  a  lantern. 

"  Noiv — it's  powerful  shady  under  the  trees !  " 
he  replied  to  March's  remark  that  the  moon  gave 


l?4  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

all  the  light  they  required.  "  An'  ther's  somethin' 
come  ter  me,  as  I  want  ter  see  !  " 

He  set  down  the  lantern,  hugged  the  tree  bole, 
and  went  up  a  foot  or  two.  Then  were  heard  a 
scratching  and  a  rattling  overhead. 

"  Now — would  ye  a  mind  holdin'  this  'tell  I  git 
'em  all  ?  " 

The  "all"  were  four  bottles  and  a  tin  box. 
Two  phials  were  long  and  empty.  A  name  was 
blown  in  the  glass.  March  held  one  down  to  the 
light. 

"  Elixir  of  Opium  !  " 

The  others  were  larger  and  of  stout  blue  glass. 
A  printed  label  said  "  Phosphate."  March  pulled 
out  a  cork  and  smelled  the  contents.  Opium 
again  ! 

The  box  held  the  same  drug  as  a  dark  paste. 

"  I  mistrusted  them  horsephates  a  coople  o' 
times ! "  said  Homer,  imperturbably  sagacious. 
"  He  wor  too  everlastin'  fond  of 'em.  He  skeered 
me  with  the  devil  inter  goin'  ter  the  drug  store 
with  a  paper  ter  tell  'em  for  ter  give  me  that  ar* 
one,"  designating  an  empty  phial.  "  Leastways, 
one  like  it.  An'  Miss  Hetty,  she  foun'  it  in  the 
garding,  where  I  drapped  it.  Then,  'twas  she  tole 
me  nivver  to  go  nowhar  'thout  'twas  she  sent  me. 
An'  I  aint  sence  !  An'  he's  t'reatened  me  orful 
a  many  a  time  'cause  what  she  said  to  me  that 
time.  I  guess  he  bought  'em  in  New  York,  mos' 
likely.  He's  a  sharp  un — Mr.  Wayt  is  !  " 


MR.    IVAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  i?5 

March  eyed  him  suspiciously. 

"  How  did  you  know  where  these  things  were, 
if  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  hiding  them  !  " 

"  Now  " — stolid  under  the  implied  doubt,  or  not 
noticing  it — "  you  reklec'  the  Sunday  night  me  'n 
you  was  talkin'  here,  'n'  he  come  along,  an'  I 
shinned  up  the  tree  ?  I  bet  " — with  more  anima- 
tion than  March  had  ever  seen  him  display 
before — "  he  was  a-comin'  for  a  drink  then  ! 
'Twas  the  very  night  before,  when  Miss  Hetty, 
she  come  all  the  way  up  to  my  room,  an'  sez  she, 
'  Homer,'  sez  she,  '  Mr.  Wayt  has  done  it  agin/ 
she  say.  An'  so  he  had,  an'  him  a  lyin'  on  the 
study  floor  jes'  as  you  see  him  now — an'  Mrs. 
Wayt  a-cryin'  over  him.  You  see  she'd  b'lieved, 
sure  an'  certain,  he'd  nuvver  do  so  no  more.  But 
/  mistrusted  them  horsephates.  Noiv,  that  very 
night — Sunday  night  'twas,  'n'  me  an'  you  was  a- 
talkin'  here — as  I  was  a-slidin'  down  the  tree  I 
kotched  inter  a  hole,  an'  somethin'  sort  o'  jingled, 
like  glass.  I  nuvver  t'ought  no  more  'bout  it  tell 
jes'  ez  I  come  up  to-night  an'  see  him  a-sprawlin' 
thar,  an'  I  smelled  the  stuff.  I'll  jes'  hide  'em  in 
the  grass,  an'  to-morrow  early  I'll  bury  'em  in  the 
garding.  But  it's  a  quare  cupboard,  that  is." 

While  talking,  he  was  busy  spreading  upon  the 
turf  a  heavy  shawl,  such  as  were  worn  by  men, 
forty  years  ago.  "  Now — ef  you'll  lend  a  lift  to 
him  !  "  to  the  wondering  observer. 

The  plan  was  ingenious,  but  Homer's  dexterity 


I?6  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

in  carrying  it  out,  and  the  sangfroid  he  main- 
tained  throughout,  betokened  an  amount  of  prac- 
tice at  which  March's  soul  recoiled.  It  was 
frightfully  realistic.  Mr.  Wayt  was  laid  in  the 
middle  of  the  big  plaid  ;  the  two  ends  were 
knotted  tightly  upon  his  chest,  inclosing  his 
arms,  the  other  two  about  his  ankles. 

"  I'll  hitch  on  to  the  heavy  eend,"  quoth  the 
bunch  of  muscle  and  bone  March  had  begun  to 
admire.  "  Me  bein'  useter  to  it  nor  what  you  be. 
You  take  holt  on  his  feet." 

In  such  style  the  stately  saint  was  borne  up  the 
back  steps  and  laid  upon  the  settee  in  the  par- 
sonage hall. 

Mrs.  Wayt  was  upon  the  porch.  Her  first 
words  gave  one  of  the  bearers  his  cue. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Gilchrist !  This  is  dreadful !  And  he 
seemed  so  well  at  dinner  time !  The  heat  often 
affects  him  seriously.  He  had  a  sunstroke  some 
years  ago,  and  every  summer  he  feels  the  effects 
of  it.  Lay  him  down  here  and  rest  before  taking 
him  upstairs.  There.  Thank  you." 

While  she  undid  and  removed  the  clerical 
cravat  and  collar  from  his  throat,  March  straight- 
ened his  spine  and  looked  around  for  Hetty. 
The  house  was  as  still  as  a  grave.  The  front  door 
was  closed  ;  the  rooms  on  both  sides  of  the  hall 
were  dark  and  silent.  It  was  Thursday  night, 
the  universal  "  evening  out  "  for  Fairhill  servants. 
March  recollected  it  in  the  mechanical  way  in  which 


MR.     WAYT'S    WIPES  SISTER.  i?7 

one  thinks  of  trifles  at  important  junctures.  He 
was  glad — mechanically — that  Mary  Ann  was  not 
there  to  carry  the  tale  of  Mr.  Wayt's  fainting  fit, 
or  semi-sunstroke,  or  whatever  name  his  wife 
chose  to  put  to  it,  to  Mrs.  Gilchrist.  He  was 
beginning  to  ask  himself  what  he  should  say  at 
home  of  what  he  had  done  with  himself  between 
nine  and  ten  o'clock  that  evening. 

The  transportation  up  to  the  second  story  was 
slow  and  difficult.  Mrs.  Wayt  supported  her  hus- 
band's head,  and,  like  a  flash,  recurred  to  March 
Hester's  sneer  of  the  task  laid  upon  "  his  wife, 
his  wife's  sister,  and  the  family  factotum."  It 
must  have  been  barely  accomplished  on  the  July 
night  when  he  and  May  brought  Hester  home, 
and  Hetty  ran  down  out  of  breath,  her  hair 
disheveled  and  eyes  scared!  That  her  hands 
should  be  fouled  by  such  a  burden ! 

His  face  was  set  whitely,  as,  having  deposited 
the  load  upon  the  bed,  he  accosted  the  wife : 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  a  physician  ?  " 

His  tone  was  hard  and  constrained.  She  did 
not  look  up. 

"  You  are  very  good  but  it  is  not  necessary — 
thank  you !  I  have  seen  him  as  ill  before  from 
the  same  cause  and  know  what  to  do  for  him. 
And  he  is  morbidly  sensitive  with  regard  to  these 
attacks.  He  thinks  it  would  injure  him  in  his 
profession  if  the  impression  were  to  get  abroad 
that  his  health  is  unsound  or  his  constitution 


178  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

breaking  up.  I  shall  not  even  dare  tell  him  that 
you  have  seen  him  to-night." 

She  was  putting  extraordinary  force  upon  her- 
self, but  she  could  not  meet  his  eye. 

"  I  cannot  thank  you  just  now  as  I  would,  Mr. 
Gilchrist.  I  am  all  unnerved,  and  although  I 
know  this  seizure  is  not  dangerous,  it  is  a  terrible 
ordeal  to  me  to  witness  it.  May  I  ask  that  you 
will  not  mention  it,  even  to  Judge  and  Mrs.  Gil- 
christ ?  My  husband  would  be  mortified  and  dis- 
tressed beyond  measure  were  his  illness  the  sub- 
ject of  even  friendly  remark." 

March  hesitated,  and  she  turned  upon  him 
quickly.  Her  face  was  that  of  an  old  woman — 
gray,  withered,  and  scored  with  lines,  each  one  of 
which  meant  an  agony. 

His  resolution  dissolved  like  the  frost  before 
fire. 

"You  may  depend  upon  my  discretion  and 
friendship,"  he  said  impulsively. 

She  burst  into  tears,  the  low,  convulsive  sob- 
bing he  had  heard  above  stairs  on  that  other 
night. 

Unable  to  bear  more  he  ran  down  the  stair- 
case, and  recognized  before  he  reached  the  foot 
that  he  had  committed  himself  to  a  lie. 

"  Mr.  Gilchrist !  " 

His  hand  was  upon  the  lock  of  the  front  door 
when  he  caught  the  low  call. 

Hetty  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  the  library, 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  1 79 

a  shadowy  figure  in  white  that  seemed  to  waver 
in  the  uncertain  light. 

"  I  should  like  to  speak  to  you,  if  you  can  spare 
a  few  minutes,"  she  pursued,  leading  the  way  into 
the  room. 

With  a  bow  of  acquiescence  he  sat  down  and 
waited  for  her  to  begin.  His  mind  was  in  a 
tumult;  dumb  pain  devoured  him.  He  felt  as 
any  honorable  man  might  feel  who  condones  a 
felony. 


CHAPTER    IX 

"  MY  sister  has  begged  you  to  keep  secret  what 
you  have  seen  to-night — has  she  not  ? "  was 
Hetty's  first  inquiry,  spoken  without  haste  and 
without  excitement. 

A  mute  bow  replied. 

"And  you  have  promised  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  told  Mrs.  Wayt  that  she  might  depend  upon 
my  discretion." 

"  Which  she  construes  into  a  pledge  to  connive 
at  a  wrong  done  to  a  church  and  a  community," 
in  precisely  the  same  tone  and  manner  as  before. 

March  stared  at  her  perplexedly.  What  did 
the  girl  mean  ?  And  was  this  resolute,  impassive 
woman  of  business  the  blushing  trembler  who, 
a  month  ago,  could  not  deny  her  love  for  him  ? 
She  was  very  serious  now,  but  apparently  very 
tranquil. 

"  You  would  say,  if  you  were  not  too  kind- 
hearted,  that  this  is  what  I  am  doing — what  I 
have  been  doing  for  nearly  ten  years — and  you 
would  be  right.  It  would  not  exculpate  me  in 
your  opinion  if  I  were  to  represent  that  Mr. 
Wayt's  profession  is  all  that  stands  between  his 
family  and  the  poorhouse ;  that  I  do  not  habitu- 
ally attend  the  church  in. which  he  officiates,  and 


MR.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER.  181 

that  my  name  has  never  appeared  upon  the 
record  of  any  one  of  the  parishes  of  which  he  has 
had  charge  since  I  became  a  member  of  his  family. 
Mr.  Wayt  and  I  have  not  exchanged  a  syllable 
directly  for  over  five  years.  I  neither  respect  nor 
like  him.  He  can  never  forgive  my  knowledge  of 
his  character,  and  my  interference  with  his  habits. 
These  were  confirmed  before  I  came  to  my 
sister." 

"  Let  me  beg,"  interposed  March,  "  that  you 
will  not  go  on  with  what  cannot  but  be  distress- 
ing to  you.  You  need  no  justification  in  my  sight. 
If  you  will  permit  me  to  call  to-morrow  morning 
we  can  talk  matters  over  calmly  and  at  leisure. 
It  is  late,  and  you  have  had  a  severe  nervous 
strain." 

"  Unless  you  insist  upon  the  postponement  I 
would  rather  speak  now,  while  my  mind  is  steady 
in  the  purpose  to  make  an  end  of  subterfuge  and 
concealment.  I  am  weary,  but  it  is  of  falsehoods, 
acted  and  spoken.  Hester  has  told  me  of  your 
generous  pretense  of  misunderstanding  the  nature 
of  Mr.  Wayt's  attack.  There  it  is  again  !  " — relaps- 
ing into  her  usual  tone,  and  with  whimsical  vexa- 
tion that  made  March  smile.  "  I  am  afraid  I 
have  forgotten  how  to  be  frank  !  My  poor  sister's 
eager  talk  of  '  attacks '  and  '  seizures '  and  '  turns ' 
and  '  sunstroke  '  and  '  constitutional  headaches ' 
has  unbalanced  my  perceptions  of  right  and 
wrong." 


1 82  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

"You  cannot  expect  me  to  agree  with  you 
there  ?  "  the  suppressed  smile  becoming  visible. 

She  was  not  to  be  turned  aside  from  the  straight 
track. 

"  Nothing  so  perverts  conscience  as  a  system- 
atic course  of  concealment,  even  when  it  is  prac- 
ticed for  what  seem  to  be  noble  ends.  I  have 
felt  this  for  a  long  time.  Lately  the  sense  of  guilt 
has  been  insupportable.  It  may  be  relief — if  not 
expiation — to  tell  the  truth  in  the  plainest  terms 
I  can  use.  It  may  leave  me  more  wretched  than 
I  am  now.  But  right  is  right." 

Her  chin  trembled  and  she  raised  her  hand  to 
cover  it.  Her  admirable  composure  was  smolder- 
ing excitement,  kept  under  by  will  and  the  con- 
science whose  rectitude  she  undervalued.  With 
a  sub-pang,  March  perceived  that  this  disclosure 
was  not  a  confidence,  but  a  duty. 

"  Mr.  Wayt  was  a  confirmed  opium  eater  and 
drinker,  twelve  years  ago,"  she  resumed  in  a  cold 
monotone.  "  He  would  drink  intoxicating  liquors, 
too,  when  narcotics  were  not  to  be  had.  I  believe 
the  appetite  for  the  two  is  a  common  symptom  of 
the  habit.  .  His  wife  shielded  him,  then,  as  she 
does  now,  and  so  successfully  that  he  kept  a 
church  in  Cincinnati  for  four  years.  Hester  was 
a  beautiful,  active  child,  eight  years  old,  and  a 
great  pet  with  her  father.  He  does  not  care  for 
children,  as  a  rule,  but  she  was  pretty  and  clever 
and  amused  him.  One  day  she  begged  her 


MR.    WA  FT"  5    WIFE'S  SISTER.  183 

mother  to  let  her  take  "dear  papa's "  lunch  up  to 
him.  It  was  always  "  dear  papa  "  with  her.  He 
had  a  way  of  locking  himself  in  his  study  from 
morning  until  night  Saturday.  Even  his  wife  did 
not  suspect  that  he  wrote  his  Sunday  sermon 
with  a  glass  of  laudanum  and  brandy  at  his  side. 
He  was  busy  upon  a  set  of  popular  discourses  on 
'  Crying  Sins  of  the  Day.'  They  drew  immense 
crowds." 

A  sarcastic  gleam  passed  over  her  face,  and  for 
the  first  time  the  listener  saw  a  likeness  to  the 
witty  and  wise  cripple. 

"  Hester  knocked  again  and  again  without  get- 
ting answered.  Then  her  father  called  out  that  he 
was  busy  and  did  not  want  any  lunch.  She  was 
always  willful,  and  he  had  indulged  her  unreason- 
ably. So  she  declared  that  she  would  not  go  away 
until  he  opened  the  door  and  took  the  tray — not  if 
she  had  to  stand  there  and  knock  all  day.  He 
tore  open  the  door  in  a  fury,  threw  the  tray  and 
the  lunch  downstairs,  and  flung  the  child  after  it. 
The  drugged  drink  had  made  him  crazy." 

March  shuddered. 

"  And  that  was  the  cause " 

"  It  left  her  what  you  see,  now.  The  effect 
upon  her  character  and  feelings  was,  if  possible, 
more  deplorable.  From  that  hour  she  has  never 
spoken  to  her  father  at  all,  or  of  him  as  'papa.' 
It  is  always  '  he '  and  '  him '  to  the  family, 
"  Mr.  Wayt "  to  strangers.  It  seems  horribly 


184  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

unnatural,  but  she  loathes  and  despises  him. 
While  she  lay  crushed  and  suffering  for  the 
months  that  passed  before  she  left  her  bed,  she 
would  go  into  convulsions  at  sight  of  him.  Her 
mother  begged  her,  on  her  knees,  to  '  forgive 
poor  papa,  who  had  a  delirious  headache  when 
he  pushed  her  away  from  the  door.'  Hester 
refused  passionately.  She  is  no  more  forgiving 
now.  Yet  she  was  so  proud  and  shrewd,  even 
then,  that  she  never  betrayed  to  the  doctors  how 
she  was  hurt.  She  let  everybody  believe  that  it 
was  an  accident.  I  had  been  her  nurse  for  six 
months  before  she  told  me  the  fearful  story. 

"  The  truth  never  got  abroad  in  Cincinnati,  but 
flying  rumors  of  Mr.  Wayt's  growing  eccentric- 
ities and  the  possible  cause  gathered  an  oppo- 
sition party  in  the  church.  It  was  headed  by  a 
prominent  druggist,  who  had  talked  with  others 
in  the  trade  from  whom  Mr.  Wayt  had  bought 
opium,  laudanum,  and  brandy.  He  has  been 
more  cunning  in  his  purchases  since  then.  He 
was  obliged  to  resign  his  charge,  and  became 
what  poor  Hester  calls  '  an  ecclesiastical  tramp.' 
He  controls  his  appetite  within  tolerably  safe' 
bounds  for  a  while,  sometimes  for  months,  then 
gives  way,  and  we  live  on  the  verge  of  discovery 
and  disgrace  until  the  crisis  comes.  The-  end  is 
always  the  same.  We  break  camp  and  '  move  on.'  " 

"  Yet  he  brought  clean  papers  to  the  Fairhill 
church." 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  185 

A  dreary  smile  went  with  the  answer. 

"  Clerical  charity  suffereth  long  and  is  kind  ! 
Out  of  curiosity  I  attended  once  a  meeting  of 
a  presbytery  that  dismissed  him  from  his  church 
and  commended  him  to  another  presbytery.  We 
had  narrowly  escaped  public  exposure  at  that 
time.  The  sexton  found  Mr.  Wayt  in  the  condi- 
tion you  have  seen  this  evening  upon  the  floor 
of  the  lecture  room  and  called  in  a  physician,  who 
boldly  proclaimed  that  the  man  was  '  dead  drunk.' 
The  accused  put  in  a  plea  of  indisposition  and 
an  overdose  of  brandy,  inadvertently  swallowed, 
His  brethren,  assembled  in  solemn  session,  spoke 
of  his  faithful  work  in  the  vineyard  and  the  lead- 
ings of  Divine  Providence,  and  said  that  their 
prayers  went  with  him  to  his  new  field  of  labor. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  unjust  or  cynical,  Mr.  Gil- 
christ,  and  I  can  see  that  there  is  a  pleasanter 
side  to  the  case.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  Chris- 
tain  charity,  and  more  of  it  in  the  world  than  we 
are  willing  to  admit.  However  church  people 
may  gossip  about  an  unpopular  pastor,  and 
maneuver  to  get  rid  of  him,  when  the  parting 
comes  they  will  not  brand  him  in  the  eyes  of 
others.  And  clergymen  are  very  faithful  to  one 
another.  It  is  really  beautiful  to  see  how  they 
try  to  hide  faults  and  foibles.  It  is  a  literal 
fulfillment  of  the  command,  *  Bear  ye  one  an- 
other's burdens.'  In  some — in  most  of  Mr. 
Wayt's  charges — the  secret  of  his  frequent  change 


l86  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

of  pastorate  was  not  told.  He  was  '  odd,'  and 
'  had  nomadic  tastes.'  Sometimes  the  climate 
did  not  agree  with  his  health.  The  air  was  too 
strong  or  too  weak.  Twice  poor  Hester's  condi- 
tion demanded  an  immediate  change.  We  went 
to  Chicago  to  be  near  an  eminent  surgeon,  who, 
after  all,  never  saw  her. 

"  I  will  not  weary  you  with  the  details  of  a  life 
such  as  I  pray  God  few  families  know.  After 
a  few  years  Hester  and  I  became  hopeless  of 
anything  better.  Wherever  we  might  go,  change, 
and  the  probability  of  disgrace,  were  a  mere  ques- 
tion of  time.  My  sister  never  loses  faith  in  her 
husband  and  in  an  overruling  Power  that  will 
not  forsake  the  righteous.  For,  strange  as  it 
may  seem,  she  believes  in  the  piety  of  a  man 
whose  sacred  profession  is  a  continual  lie. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Gilchrist ! "  the  enforced  monotony  of 
her  tone  wavering  into  a  cry  of  pain — "  I  think 
that  is  the  worst  of  all !  When  I  recollect  my 
mother's  pure  religion — when  I  see  your  mother's 
beneficent  life  and  firm  faith  in  goodness  and  in 
God — when  I  know  that,  in  spite  of  the  seeming 
untruthfulness  which  is,  she  thinks,  necessary  to 
protect  her  husband — my  sister  holds  fast  to  her 
love  and  trust  in  an  Almighty  Friend,  and  walks 
humbly  with  her  God,  I  feel  such  indignation 
against  a  man  who  is  the  slave  of  passion,  selfish, 
vain,  and  conscienceless,  and  yet  assumes  to  show 
such  souls  the  way  to  heaven,  that  I  dare  not 


MR.    WAYT'S  WIFE'S  SISTER.  187 

enter  the  church  where  he  is  allowed  to  preach, 
lest  I  should  cry  out  in  the  face  of  his  hearers 
against  the  monstrous  cheat ! " 

Her  eyes  flamed  clear;  the  torrent  of  feeling 
swept  away  reserve  and  coldness. 

"  I  understand  !  "  March  said,  with  sympathetic 
warmth.  "  You  never  disappoint  me.  Tell  me 
what  I  can  do  to  help  you.  I  cannot  let  you 
endure  all  this  alone  any  longer." 

"  Nobody  can  take  my  share  of  the  burden.  I 
would  hardly  know  myself  without  it.  It  will  be 
the  heavier  for  my  sister's  distress  and  Hester's 
anger  when  they  hear  what  I  have  decided  to  do. 
Hester  was  on  her  way  over  to  your  house  when 
you  met  her,  full  of  news  she  could  not  wait  until 
to-morrow  to  tell.  My  mother's  only  brother 
went  to  Japan  thirty  years  ago  and  became  rich. 
He  died  last  March,  leaving  most  of  his  fortune 
to  benevolent  institutions  in  America.  To  each 
of  us,  his  sister's  children,  he  bequeathed  ten 
thousand  dollars.  It  is  not  a  fortune,  but  with 
our  modest  tastes,  and  when  joined  to  the  little 
I  already  have,  it  will  support  us  decently.  My 
first  thought,  when  the  news  reached  us,  a  week 
ago,  was  '  Now,  Mr.  Wayt  need  never  take  an- 
other charge !  We  need  not  live  upon  tainted 
food ! ' " 

"You  are  a  noble  woman,  Hetty 

She  interrupted  him. 

"  I  am  not !     This  is  not  self-sacrifice,  but  self- 


1 88  MR.    WAYT'S   WIFE'S  SISTER. 

preservation.  If  the  money  had  not  been  given 
to  us,  I  must  have  found  some  way  out  of  a  false 
position.  I  want  you  to  tell  your  father  all  you 
know.  Keep  back  nothing  I  have  told  you.  He 
is  a  good  and  a  merciful  man.  Let  him  speak 
openly  to  Mr.  Wayt  and  forbid  him  ever  to  enter 
the  pulpit  again  upon  penalty  of  public  exposure 
and  suspension  from  the  ministry.  What  Judge 
Gilchrist  says  will  have  weight.  With  all  his  high 
looks  and  sounding  talk,  Mr.  Wayt  is  a  coward. 
He  would  not  venture  to  resist  the  decision. 
Then  we  will  go  away  quietly.  I  have  thought 
of  the  little  town  in  which  my  sister  and  I  were 
born.  Living  is  cheap  there  and  there  are  excel- 
lent schools  for  the  children.  Twenty-five  thou- 
sand dollars  will  go  very  far  in  that  region,  and 
we  can  be  honest  people  once  more." 

"  You  have  arranged  it  all,  have  you  ? "  said 
March,  not  at  all  in  the  tone  she  had  expected  to 
hear.  "  Give  them  the  cheap  town,  and  the  good 
schools,  and  the  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  by 
all  means.  They  can  have  everything  but  yon  !  " 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE  long  storm  in  August  set  in  next  day.  A 
fine,  close  drizzle  veiled  the  world  by  7  o'clock. 
At  8.30,  the  twins  and  Fanny  needed  their  water- 
proof cloaks  for  the  walk  to  school.  By  noon  the 
patter  on  the  piazza  roof  and  falling  floods  upon 
lawn  and  garden  and  streets  were  slow,  but  abun- 
dant. It  was  scrubbing  day  and  closet  day,  and, 
as  Hester  fretted  sometimes  to  methodical  Mary 
Ann  on  Friday,  "  all  the  rest  of  the  week,"  below 
stairs.  Hetty  had  to  prepare  a  dessert  and  to  set 
the  lunch  table.  Before  going  down  she  made 
up  a  little  fire  in  the  sewing  room,  and  put  out 
Hester's  color-box,  glass  of  water,  stretching 
board,  paper,  and  easel  within  easy  reach,  should 
she  decide  to  use  them.  Silently,  and  not  too 
suggestively,  she  set  upon  the  table  near  by  a 
vase  containing  some  fine  specimens  of  the  moc- 
casin flower  sent  in  by  May  Gilchrist,  with  a  note 
addressed  to  "  Queen  Mab."  Hester  hated  hints, 
but  if  she  lacked  a  study  she  would  not  have  to 
look  far  for  it. 

It  was  "a  bad  day"  with  her.  Her  mother  at- 
tributed it  partly  to  her  disappointment  at  not 
seeing  her  crony  teacher. 


19°  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

Hetty,  who  had  put  the  excited  child  to  bed  as 
soon  as  she  got  into  the  house  the  night  before, held 
her  peace.  Mrs.  Way t,  hovering  from  the  nursery 
and  her  husband's  chamber  to  the  sewing  room, 
saw  that  in  her  taciturn  daughter's  countenance 
that  warned  and  kept  her  aloof.  Another  of 
Hester's  biting  sayings  was  that  her  mother,  on  the 
day  succeeding  one  of  her  spouse's  "  seizures  "  was 
"betwixt  the  devil  and  the  deep  sea."  She  never 
admitted,  even  to  her  sister,  that  "  dear  Percy  " 
was  more  than  "  unfortunate,"  yet  read  Hetty's 
disapprobation  in  averted  looks  and  studiously 
commonplace  talk. 

Wan  and  limp  the  cripple  reclined  among  the 
cushions  Hetty  packed  about  her  in  her  wheeled 
chair.  Blue  shadows  ringed  mouth  and  eyes,  and 
stretched  themselves  in  the  hollowed  temples ; 
the  deft  fingers  were  nerveless.  Most  of  the  time 
she  seemed  to  watch  the  rain  under  drooping  eye- 
lids,  so  transparent  as  to  show  the  dark  irides 
beneath. 

At  half  past  eleven  her  mother  stole  in  like  a 
bit  of  drifted  down. 

"  Dear,  I  have  promised  papa  to  go  up  to  your 
room  and  lie  down  for  half  an  hour.  Annie  is 
with  him.  She  amuses  him,  and  will  be  very 
good,  she  says.  I  told  her  to  let  you  know  if  she 
wanted  anything.  May  I  leave  the  door  open  ? 
She  cannot  turn  this  stiff  bolt." 

Annie    was    one    of    Hester's    weak    points. 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  IQI 

"Baby"  never  made  her  nervous  or  impatient, 
and  much  of  the  little  one's  precocity  was  due  to 
intimate  companionship  with  the  disabled  sister, 
whose  plaything  she  was. 

"  Yes.  All  right ! "  murmured  Hester,  closing 
her  eyes  entirely. 

She  was  deathly  pallid  in  the  uncolored  gloom 
of  a  rainy  noon. 

"  Or — if  you  feel  like  taking  a  nap,  yourself  ?  " 
hesitated  Mrs.  Wayt. 

Tactful  with  her  husband,  and  tender  with  all 
her  household,  she  yet  had  the  misfortune  often 
to  rub  Hester's  fur  the  wrong  way.  The  delicately 
pencilled  brows  met  over  frowning  eyes. 

"  No  !  no  !  you  know  I  never  sleep  in  the  day ! 
If  you  would  never  bother  yourself  with  my  peace 
and  comfort,  mamma,  we  should  be  on  better 
terms.  I  am  not  a  baby,  or  a — husband ! " 

She  was  not  sorry  for  her  ill  humor  or  for  the 
long  gap  between  the  last  article  and  noun,  when 
left  to  herself. 

She  lay  upon  a  bed  of  thorns,  each  of  which 
was  endued  with  intelligent  vitality.  Earth  was  a 
waste.  Heaven  had  never  been.  Hate  herself 
for  it  as  she  might  she  had  never,  in  all  her  rueful 
existence,  known  suffering  comparable  to  that 
condensed  into  the  three  little  minutes  she  had 
lived  twelve  hours  ago. 

When  Hetty  had  come  up  to  bed  her  face  was 
beautiful  with  a  strange  white  peace,  at  sight  of 


192  MR.    WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

which  Hester  held  her  breath.  Coming  swiftly, 
but  without  bustle,  across  the  room,  she  kneeled 
by  the  bed  and  gathered  the  frail  form  in  the 
dear,  strong  arms  that  had  cradled  it  a  thousand 
times.  Her  eyes  sparkled,  her  lips  were  parted 
by  quick  breaths,  but  she  tried  to  speak  quietly. 

"  Precious  child  !  you  should  be  asleep.  But  I 
am  glad  you  are  not,  for  I  have  a  message  for 
you.  We — you  and  I — are  to  take  no  anxious 
thought  for  to-morrow,  or  for  any  more  of  the 
to-morrows  we  are  to  spend  together.  March 
told  me  to  say  that  and  to  give  you  this !  "  laying 
a  kiss  upon  her  lips.  "  For  he  loves  me,  Hester, 
darling,  and  you  are  to  live  with  us  !  Just  as  we 
planned,  ever  and  ever  so  long  ago !  But  what 
day  dream  was  ever  so  beautiful  as  this?" 

For  one  of  the  three  awful  minutes  Hester 
thought  and  hoped  she  was  dying.  The  fright- 
ened blood  ebbed  back  with  turbulence  that 
threw  her  into  a  spasm  of  trembling  and  weeping. 
She  recollected  pushing  Hetty  away,  then  clutch- 
ing her  frantically  to  pull  her  down  for  a  storm  of 
passionate  kisses  given  between  tearless  sobs. 
Then  she  gave  way  to  wheezing  shrieks  of 
laughter,  which  Hetty  tried  to  check.  She  would 
not  let  her  move  or  speak  after  that. 

"  How  thoughtless  in  me  not  to  know  that  you 
were  too  much  unnerved  to  bear  another  shock — 
even  of  happiness  !  "  said  the  loving  nurse.  "  No  ! 
don't  try  to  offer  so  much  as  a  word  of  congratu- 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  193 

lation.  It  will  keep  !  All  we  have  to  do  to-night 
is  to  obey  the  order  of  our  superior  officer,  and 
not  think — only  trust !  " 

In  the  morning  there  was  no  opportunity  for 
speech-making.  A  night  of  suffering  had  beaten 
Hester  dumb. 

"  Nobody  could  be  surprised  at  that !  "  cooed 
Hetty,  as  she  rubbed  and  bathed  the  throbbing 
spine.  "  If  I  could  but  pour  down  this  aching 
column  some  of  my  redundant  vitality!  " 

Hester  detested  herself  in  acknowledging  the 
fervent  sincerity  of  the  wish.  Hetty  would 
willingly  divide  her  life  with  her,  as  she  had 
said  yesterday  that  she  meant  to  divide  her 
fortune. 

"  Half  for  you  while  I  live  !  All  for  you  when 
I  am  gone  !  " 

The  sad  sweetness  of  the  smile  accompanying 
the  words  was  as  little  like  the  wonderful  white 
shining  of  last  night  as  the  lot  cast  for  Hetty  was 
like  that  of  the  deformed  dwarf  whose  height  of 
grotesque  folly  was  attained  when  she  loved — 
first,  in  dreams  and  in  "  drifting " — then,  all 
unconsciously,  in  actual  scenes  and  waking  mo- 
ments— one  whose  whole  heart  belonged  to  the 
woman  who  had  "  made  her  over,"  to  whom  she 
owed  life,  brain,  and  soul  ! 

She  was  to  live  with  them  !  Hetty  must  make 
her  partaker  of  her  every  good.  By  force  of  long 
habit,  Hester  fell  to  planning  the  house  the  three 


194  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

would  inhabit.  She  was  herself — always  helpless, 
never  less  a  burden  than  now — a  piece  of  rubbish 
in  the  pretty  rooms,  a  clog  upon  domestic 
machinery — a  barrier  to  social  pleasure — the  inad- 
missible third  in  the  married  tete-a-t$te. 

She  writhed  impotently.  More  useless  than  a 
toy  ;  more  troublesome  than  a  baby — uglier  than 
the  meanest  insect  that  crawls — she  must  yet 
submit  to  the  fate  that  fastened  her  upon  the 
young  lives  of  her  custodians. 

"  I  doubt  if  I  could  even  take  my  own  life  !  "  she 
meditated  darkly.  "  In  my  fits  of  rage  and 
despair,  I  used  to  threaten  to  roll  my  chair  down 
the  stairs  and  break  my  neck  to  '  finish  the  job.' 
I  said  it  once  to  mamma.  I  wonder  sometimes  if 
that  is  the  reason  Tony  puts  up  gates  across  the 
top  of  the  stairs  wherever  we  go  ?  He  says  it  is 
to  keep  baby  Annie  from  tumbling  'down.  I 
haven't  cared  to  die  lately,  but  to-day  I  wish  my 
soul  had  floated  clean  out  of  my  body  in  that  five 
minute  make-believe  under  the  pink  tent  of  the 
apple  tree,  three  months  ago. 

"  I  suppose  he  will  be  coming  here  constantly, 
now.  Hetty  won't  belong  to  me  any  more.  I  am 
very  wicked  !  I  am  jealous  of  her  with  him,  and 
of  him  with  her !  I  am  a  spiteful,  malicious, 
broken-backed  toad  !  Oh,  how  I  despise  Hester 
Wayt !  And  I  owe  it  all  to  him  !  " 

She  glowered  revengefully  at  the  door  her 
mother  had  left  unclosed. 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  195 

Baby  Annie  was  having  a  lovely  hour  with  "  dee 
papa."  He  had  not  left  his  bed,  but  the  nausea 
and  sense  of  goneness  with  which  he  had 
awakened,  were  yielding  to  the  administration  of 
minute  potions  of  opium  by  his  wife,  at  stated 
intervals.  A  fit  of  delirium  tremens,  induced  by 
the  failure  to  "cool  him  off"  secundum  artem, 
had  brought  about  Homer's  introduction  to' his 
nominal  employer.  Routed  from  his  secret  lodg- 
ings under  the  roof-tree  at  one  o'clock  of  a  winter 
morning,  Hetty's  waif  had  first  run  for  a  doctor, 
and,  pending  his  arrival,  pinioned  the  raving 
patient  with  his  sinewy  arms  until  the  man  of 
intelligent  measures  took  charge  of  the  case.  Mrs. 
Wayt  had  run  no  such  risks  since. 

Her  lord  never  confessed  that  he  took  opium  or 
ardent  spirits.  Indeed,  he  made  capital  of  his 
total  abstinence  even  from  tobacco.  There  was 
always  a  cause,  natural  or  violent,  for  his  attacks. 
The  Chicago  seizure  followed  upon  his  rashness  in 
swallowing,  "  mistaking  it  for  mineral  water,"  a 
pint  of  spirits  of  wine,  bought  for  cleaning  his 
Sunday  suit.  Other  turns  he  attributed,  severally, 
to  dyspepsia,  to  vertigo,  to  over-study,  and  to 
extreme  heat.  A  sunstroke,  suffered  when  he 
was  in  college,  rendered  him  peculiarly  sensitive 
to  hot  weather.  His  wife  never  gainsaid  his 
elaborate  explanations.  He  was  her  Percy,  her 
conscience,  her  king.  She  not  only  went  backward 
with  the  cloak  of  love  to  conceal  his  shame,  but 


196  MR.    WA  YTS    WIFE'S  SISTEJZ. 

she  affected  to  forget  the  degradation  when  he 
became  sober. 

Many  women  in  a  thousand,  and  about  one 
man  in  twenty  millions,  are  "  built  so."  The 
policy — or  principle — may  be  humane.  It  is  not 
Godlike.  The  All-Merciful  calls  sinners  to  re- 
pentance before  offering  pardon.  The  Church 
insists  upon  conviction  as  a  preliminary  to  con- 
version. Mrs.  Wayt  was  a  Christian  and  a  church- 
woman,  but  she  clung  pathetically  to  belief  in 
the  efficacy  of  her  plan  for  the  reclamation  of  her 
husband.  In  life,  or  in  death,  she  would  not  have 
upon  her  soul  the  weight  of  a  reproach  addressed 
to  him  whom  she  had  sworn  to  "  honor."  Love 
was  omnipotent.  In  time  he  would  learn  the 
depth  of  hers  and  be  lured  back  to  the  right 
way. 

He  was  plaintive  this  forenoon,  but  not  peevish. 
His  eyes  were  bloodshot;  his  tongue  was  furry; 
there  was  a  gnawing  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach  and 
an  unaccountable  ache  at  the  base  of  the  brain. 

"  I  have  missed  another  sunstroke  by  a  hair's 
breadth,"  he  informed  his  wife.  "  I  almost  regret 
that  we  did  not  go  to  the  seashore.  My  summer 
labors  are  exhausting  the  reserves  of  vital 
energy." 

"  Why  not  run  down  to  the  beach  for  a  day  or 
two  next  week?"  suggested  Mrs.  Wayt.  "Now 
that  your  wife  is  an  heiress,  you  can  afford  a 
change  of  air,  now  and  then." 


MR.     WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  197 

A  dull  red  arose  in  the  sallow  cheek.  He  pulled 
her  down  to  kiss  her. 

"  The  best,  sweetest  wife  ever  given  to  man !  " 
he  said. 

After  that  he  bade  her  get  a  little  rest.  She 
must  have  slept  little  the  night  before.  Annie 
would  k'eep  him  company.  While  his  head  was 
so  light  and  his  tongue  so  thick  Annie's  was  the 
best  society  for  him.  She  made  no  demand  upon 
intellectual  forces.  He  sent  the  best  wife  ever 
given  to  man  off  lightened  in  spirit,  and  grateful 
for  the  effort  he  made  to  appease  her  anxiety  and 
to  affect  the  gayety  he  could  not  be  supposed  to 
feel.  She  looked  back  at  the  door  to  exchange 
affectionate  smiles  with  the  dear,  unselfish 
fellow. 

He  watched  the  baby's  pretty,  quaint  pretense 
of  "  being  mamma,"  and  hearkened  to  the  drip 
and  plash  of  the  rain  until  the  gnawing  in  his 
stomach  re-asserted  itself  importunately.  He 
knew  what  it  meant.  It  was  the  demand  of  the 
devil-appetite  he  had  created  long  ago — his  Frank- 
enstein, his  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  his  body  of 
death,  lashed  fast  to  him,  lying  down  when  he  lay 
down,  rising  up  at  his  awakening,  keeping  step 
with  him,  however  he  might  try  to  flee.  The  lust 
he  had  courted  rashly — now  become  flesh  of  his 
flesh  and  bone  of  his  bone. 

His  wife  had  carried  off  the  phial  of  opium. 
But  he  had  secreted  a  supply  of  the  drug  for  such 


198  MR.     WA  YT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER. 

emergencies  since  she  had  found  out  the  phos- 
phate device  and  privately  confiscated  the  stout 
blue  bottle.  He  always  carried  a  small  Greek 
Testament  in  his  hip  pocket.  Mrs.  Wayt's  furtive 
search  of  his  clothes  every  night,  after  making 
sure  that  he  was  asleep,  had  not  extended  to  the 
removal  of  the  sacred  volume. 

He  arose  stealthily,  steadied  his  reeling  head 
by  holding  hard  to  the  back  of  his  neck  with  one 
hand,  while  the  other  caught  at  the  chairs  and 
bed-foot ;  tiptoed  to  the  closet,  found  his  black 
cloth  pantaloons,  drew  out  the  Testament,  and  ex- 
tracted from  the  depths  beneath  a  wad  of  silken, 
rustleless  paper.  Within  was  a  lump  of  dark 
brown  paste. 

"  Tan'y !  tan'y ! "  twittered  Annie's  sweet,  small 
pipe.  "  Give  baby  a  piece  !  p'ease,  dee  papa  !  " 

He  hurried  back  into  bed.  If  the  child  were 
overheard  Hetty  might  look  in.  And  Hester's 
sharp  ears  were  across  the  hall. 

"No,  baby;  papa  has  no  candy."  He  was  so 
startled  and  unmanned  that  he  had  to  wet  his 
lips  with  a  tongue  almost  as  parched  before  he 
could  articulate.  "  Papa's  head  aches  badly. 
Will  Annie  sing  him  to  sleep  ?  " 

Hester  heard,  through  her  stupor  of  misery,  the 
weak  little  voice  and  the  thump  of  the  low  rock- 
ing chair  as  baby  crooned  to  the  dolly  cuddled  in 
her  arms  and  to  "  dee  papa,"  the  song  learned 
from  Hester's  self : 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  199 

"  S'eep,  baby,  s'eep. 

The  angels  watch  'y  s'eep. 
The  fairies  s'ake  'e  d'eamlancl  t'ee, 
An'  all'e  d'eams  'ey  fall  ow'ee. 

S'eep,  baby,  s'eep  ! " 


The  rain  fell  straight  and  strong.  The  heavy 
pour  had  beaten  all  motion  out  of  the  air,  but  the 
gurgling  of  water  pipes  and  the  resonance  of  the 
tinned  roof  gave  the  impression  of  a  tumultuous 
storm.  Through  the  register  and  chimney  arose 
a  far-off  humming  from  the  cellar,  where  Homer 
was  "  redding  up."  Hester's  acute  ears  divided 
the  sound  into  notes  and  words : 


"  An'  we  buried  her  deep,  yes !  deep  among  the  rocks. 
On  the  banks  of  the  Orna-ha  !  " 


Annie  stopped  singing.  "  Dolly  mus*  lie  down 
in  her  twadle,  an'  mamma  mate  her  some  tea ! " 
Hester  heard  her  say.  At  another  time  she 
would  have  speculated,  perhaps  anxiously,  as  to 
the  processes  going  on  when  the  clatter  of  metal 
and  the  tinkle  of  china  arose,  accompanied  by  the 
fitful  bursts  of  song  and  a  monologue  of  ex- 
clamations. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  tate  tare,  dee  papa  !  "  came  pres- 
ently in  a  frightened  tone.  Then  louder  :  "  Papa ! 
dee  papa  !  wate  up !  you'll  det  afire  ! " 


200  MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S   SISTER. 

Wee  feet  raced  across  the  hall,  a  round  face,  red 
and  scared,  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"  Hetter  !  Hetter !  turn,  wate  up  dee  papa  !  'E 
bed  is  on  fire  ! " 

Through  the  doors  left  open  behind  her  Hester 
saw  a  lurid  glare,  a  column  of  smoke. 

Shrieking  for  help  at  the  top  of  her  feeble  lungs 
she  plied  the  levers  of  her  chair  and  rolled  rapidly 
into  the  burning  room.  Upon  the  table  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed  had  stood  the  spirit  lamp  and 
copper  teakettle  used  by  Mrs.  Wayt  in  heating 
her  husband's  phosphate  draughts  at  night. 
Annie  had  lighted  the  lamp  and  contrived  to 
knock  it  over  upon  the  bed.  The  alcohol  had 
ignited  and  poured  over  the  counterpane. 

Mr.  Wayt  lay,  unstirring,  amid  the  running 
flames.  Hester  made  straight  for  him,  leaned  far 
out  of  her  chair,  to  pull  off  the  blazing  covers, 
"  Papa !  papa !  papa  ! " 

He  had  not  heard  the  word  from  her  in  ten 
years.  He  was  not  to  hear  it  now. 

Mrs.  Wayt,  Hetty,  March  Gilchrist,  and  the 
servants,  rushing  to  the  spot,  found  father  and 
child  enwrapped  in  the  same  scorching  pall. 

"  Mr.  Wayt  died  at  midnight,"  reported  the 
Fairhill  papers.  "He  never  regained  conscious- 
ness. The  heroic  daughter  who  lost  her  life  in 
attempting  to  rescue  a  beloved  parent  lived  until 
daybreak. 


MR.    WAYT'S    WIFE'S  SISTER.  2OI 

"  '  They  were  lovely  and  pleasant  in  their  lives, 
and  in  their  deaths  they  were  not  divided.'  " 

"  I  must  be  going,  dear  heart ! "  whispered 
Hetty's  namechild,  as  the  August  dawn,  made 
faint  by  showers,  glimmered  through  the  windows. 
"  I  cannot  see  you.  Would  Mr.  March  mind  kiss- 
ing me  '  good-by '  ?  " 

"  Mind  ?  "  He  could  not  restrain  the  great  sob. 
A  tear  fell  with  the  kiss. 

"  Dear  little  friend  !  my  sweet  sister ! " 

The  glorious  eyes,  darkened  by  death  and 
almost  sightless,  widened  in  turning  toward  him. 
She  smiled  radiantly. 

"Thank  you  for  calling  me  that.  Now,  Miss 
May !  And  poor  mamma !  I  wish  I  had  been  a 
better  child  to  you  !  Hetty,  dearest !  hold  me 
fast  and  kiss  me  last  of  all !  You  will  be  very 
happy,  darling !  But  you  won't  forget  me — will 
you  ?  I  heard  the  doctors  say  " — a  gleam  of  the 
old  fantastic  humor  playing  about  her  mouth — 
"  that  I  had  swallowed  the  flame.  I  think  they 
were  right — for  the — bitterness  is  all— burned- 
out — of  my  heart  !  " 


A  SOCIAL  SUCCESS. 


PART  I. 

"  I  KNOW  it  is  horrid  to  swoop  down  upon  you 
at  this  barbarously  early  hour,  but  I  couldn't  help 
coming  the  minute  I  received  your  card.  We 
get  our  mail  at  the  breakfast  table,  and  I  fairly 
screamed  with  joy  when  I  opened  the  envelope. 
'  Jack ! '  I  said,  'who  do  you  think  has  come  to 
New  York  to  live  ? ' 

"  '  The  Picanninnies  and  the  Joblillies  and  the 
Garyulies,  and  probably  the  grand  Panjandrum 
himself,'  said  my  gentleman. 

"  You  know  what  a  tease  he  is.  Oh,  no,  you 
don't !  for  you  never  met  him.  But  you  will  be- 
fore long  !  '  Better  than  all  of  them  put  together, 
with  the  little  round  button  on  top,'  said  I.  (You 
see  I  am  used  to  his  chaff  ! )  '  My  very  dearest 
school  friend,  of  whom  you  have  heard  me  talk 
ten  thousand  times — Susie  Barnes,  now  Mrs. 
Cornell.  She  has  been  living  five  years  in  Brook- 
lyn (and  I've  always  declared  I'd  rather  go  to 
Canada  than  to  Brooklyn)  and  here's  her  card 
telling  me  that  she  has  returned  to  civilization. 


204  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

Mrs.  Arthur  Hayward  Cornell,  No.  —  West  Sixty- 
seventh  St.'  At  that  he  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"  '  That's  the  new  cashier  in  the  Pin  and  Needle 
Bank,'  says  he.  '  Somebody  was  talking  of  him 
at  the  Club  last  night.'  And  nothing  would  do 
but  I  must  tell  him  all  about  you.  In  going  over 
the  story  and  thinking  of  the  dear  old  times,  my 
heart  got  so  warm  and  full  that  I  rushed  off  by 
the  time  he  was  out  of  the  house." 

Mrs.  John  Hitt,  a  well-dressed,  prettyish  woman, 
whom  the  cold  morning  light  showed  to  be  also 
a  trifle  society-worn,  embraced  her  hostess  anew, 
and  then  held  her  off  at  arm's  length  for  inspec- 
tion. 

"  You  sweet  old  girl !  what  sort  of  life  have  you 
led  that  you  have  kept  your  roses,  your  dimples, 
and  the  sparkle  in  your  eyes  all  these  years?  Do 
you  know  that  you  are  absolutely  bewitching?" 

The  lately  recovered  friend  smiled,  coloring  as 
a  woman  of  Mrs.  Hitt's  world  could  not  have 
done. 

"  You  are  the  same  impulsive  Kitty  !  "  she  said 
affectionately.  "  I  have  had  a  quiet,  busy,  happy 
life  with  Arthur  and  the  children.  Three  babies 
in  five  years  do  not  give  a  housekeeper  much  time 
for  anything  but  domestic  duties." 

"  I  should  think  not,  indeed  !  "  The  shiver  of 
shoulders  was  well-executed,  the  heavenward  cast 
of  eyes  and  hands  dramatic.  "  I  wonder  you  live 
to  tell  it !  One  child  in  six  years  has  been  enough 


A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS.  205 

to  unsettle  my  wits.  Now  that  you  are  once  more 
within  my  reach  (Oh,  you  darling  /)  we  must 
make  up  for  lost  time  and  see  a  great  deal  of  each 
other !  Do  you  ever  sing  nowadays  ?  Or  have 
you  let  your  music  go  to  the  dogs  ?  I  suppose 
so,  if  Providence  has  interfered  to  save  your  wild- 
rose  complexion.  I  was  raving  to  Jack  this 
morning  over  the  voice  you  used  to  have,  and 
your  genius  for  theatricals  and  all  that.  '  Indeed,' 
said  I,  '  there  was  nothing  that  girl  couldn't  do.' 
To  think  of  wasting  such  an  organ,  or  wearing  it 
thin  in  crooning  nursery  ditties." 

Mrs.  Cornell  laughed  a  soft,  merry  burst  of 
amusement,  at  which  the  other  eyed  her  curiously. 

"  You  behave  less  like  an  exhumed  corpse  than 
anybody  could  imagine  who  knew  of  your  five 
years  in  Brooklyn,  and  the  three  younglings. 
What  amuses  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  except  yourdetermination  to  regard 
me  as  dead,  buried,  and  resurrected.  So  far  from 
giving  up  my  music,  I  have  practiced  more  stead- 
ily than  if  I  had  spent  more  evenings  abroad. 
You  know  I  studied  vocal  and  instrumental  music 
with  the  intention  of  making  it  my  profession. 
Arthur  agrees  with  me  that  what  is  once  learned 
should  never  be  lost.  Then,  when  my  little  girls 
are  ready  to  be  taught,  I  can  instruct  them  myself. 
We  had  a  number  of  musical  friends  in  Brooklyn, 
and  a  pleasant  circle  of  acquaintances.  We  have 
not  lived  in — Hoboken"  cried  the  hostess  in  whim- 


206  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

sical  vexation.  "  I  don't  see  why  New  Yorkers 
always  talk  of  Brooklyn  as  if  it  were  as  far  off  and 
as  much  a  terra  incognita  as  the  moon.  We  are 
inhabitants  of  the  same  planet  as  yourselves." 

The  visitor  patted  the  back  of  her  companion's 
hand,  soothingly.  "  You  are  a  New  Yorker  now 
— one  of  us!"  she  purred.  "In  six  months  you 
would  as  soon  cross  the  Styx  as  the  East  River, 
even  on  that  overgrown,  preposterous  Bridge  the 
Brooklynites  give  themselves  such  airs  over. 
How  prettily  settled  you  are !  "  staring,  rather 
than  glancing  about  the  apartment.  "  These  are 
nice  drawing  rooms  and  furnished  in  excellent 
taste." 

Mrs.  Cornell  had  regarded  them  as  "  parlors," 
but  her  first  concession  to  Mrs.  Hitt's  better 
knowledge  was  to  look  accustomed  to  the  new 
term.  She  fought  down  with  equal  success  the 
impulse  to  classify  Kitty's  open  admiration  with 
the  amiable  patronage  of  which  Brooklyn  people 
are  inclined  to  suspect  New  Yorkers.  She  plumed 
herself  modestly  upon  her  taste  in  house-furnish- 
ing and  upon  the  ability  to  make  cheap  things 
look  as  if  they  had  cost  a  good  deal.  She  had 
withheld  the  fact  of  the  change  of  residence  from 
metropolitan  acquaintances  until  her  house  was 
in  order  that  might  defy  unfavorable  criticism. 
It  was  kind  in  Kitty  to  run  in  so  unceremoniously 
and  to  be  glad  of  the  chance  to  renew  their  early 
intimacy.  In  spite  of  Arthur  and  the  children, 


A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS.  207 

she  had  begun  to  be  somewhat  homesick  in  the 
great  whirling  world  about  her. 

"Like  a  chip  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean!"  Thus 
she  had  described  her  sensations  to  her  husband 
that  very  morning.  "  I  suppose  I  shall  get  used 
to  it  after  a  while,  especially  as  Brooklyn  and  New 
York  are,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  one  and  the 
same  city." 

She  asserted  it  stoutly,  knowing  all  the  while 
that  Moscow  and  New  Orleans  were  as  nearly 
homogeneous. 

Yes !  Kitty  was  heartily  welcome  to  the 
stranger  in  an  unknown  territory.  Mrs.  Hitt  was 
not  intellectual,  and  judged  by  standards  Arthur 
Cornell's  wife  had  come  to  revere  sincerely,  she 
was  not  especially  refined  in  speech  and  bearing. 
Or  were  Susie's  tastes  too  quiet  and  her  ideas 
old-fashioned,  that  her  interlocutor's  crisp  sayings 
sounded  pert,  and  the  bright  brown  eyes  and 
fixed  flush  upon  the  cheekbones  were  artificially 
aggressive  ?  Her  former  chum  had  always  been 
warm-hearted,  if  inconveniently  outspoken.  And 
she  was  a  New  Yorker,  and  fashionable.  Susie's 
cherished  ambition,  unavowed  even  to  Arthur 
while  it  was  expedient  for  them  to  live  simply, 
was  to  be  fashionable,  brilliant,  and  courted — a 
member  in  good  and  regular  standing  in  the 
Society  of  which  Mrs.  Sherwood  lectured,  and 
Ellen  Olney  Kirk  wrote,  and  to  which  Jenkyns 
Knickerbocker  was  au  fait.  A  certain  some- 


zo8  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

thing  that  was  not  air  or  tone,  deportment  or 
attire,  and  yet  partook  of  all  these  as  pot-pourri 
of  rose-breath,  spices,  and  perfumed  oils — marked 
Kitty  Hitt  as  an  habitude  of  the  charmed  Reserve. 
She  was  not,  perhaps,  one  of  the  Four  Hundred 
selected  from  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand  by  proc- 
esses as  arbitrary,  to  human  judgment,  as  those 
by  which  Gideon's  three  hundred  were  picked 
out  from  the  hosts  of  Israel.  Susie  was  no 
simpleton,  albeit  ambitious.  Mr.  Hitt  was  a 
stockbroker ;  hence  manifestly  in  the  line  of 
promotion,  but  there  were  degrees  of  elevation 
upon  even  Olympus.  Her  imagination  durst  not 
lift  eyes  to  the  cloud-wreathed  summit  where 
chief  gods  held  revel,  guarded  from  vulgar  intru- 
sion by  Gabriel  Macallister.  The  climate  and 
manner  of  life  a  few  leagues  lower  down  would, 
as  she  felt,  suit  her  better  than  the  rarified  atmos- 
phere of  the  extremest  heights.  She  had  always 
meant  to  climb,  and  successfully,  when  time  and 
opportunity  should  serve.  From  the  moment 
the  passage  of  the  river  was  determined  upon  as 
a  business  necessity,  she  felt  intuitively  that 
both  of  these  were  near. 

"  We  think  them  cozy  !  "  she  assented  quietly 
to  the  visitor's  praise  of  her  'rooms. 

"  Cozy !  they  are  lovely  !  " 

While  she  talked  she  raised  her  eye-glasses  to 
make  note  of  some  fine  etchings  upon  the  walls 
and  a  choice  water-color  upon  an  easel,  and  took 


A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS.  209 

in,  in  passing,  the  circumstance  that  the  rugs  laid 
upon  the  polished  floor  were  of  prime  quality, 
although  neither  large  nor  numerous. 

"  I  do  hope  you  don't  mean  to  shut  yourself  up 
in  your  pretty  cage  as  so  many  pattern  wives 
and  mothers — particularly  Brooklyn  women " 
(roguishly)  "  do  ?  That's  the  reason  American 
society  is  so  crude  and  colorless.  With  your  face 
and  figure  and  accomplishments  (I  haven't  for- 
gotten how  divinely  you  recite)  you  ought  to 
become  a  Social  Success — a  star  in  the  world  of 
Society.  You  ought  indeed ! "  drowning  the 
feeble  murmur  of  dissent.  "  There's  many  a  so- 
named  leader  of  the  gay  world  who  doesn't  hold, 
and  who  never  did  hold  such  a  card.  Just  trust 
yourself  to  me,  and  I  will  prove  all  I  promise." 

"  But,  my  dear  Kitty,  I  lack  the  Open  Sesame 
to  the  Gotham  Innermost — Money  !  Only  the 
repeatedly-millionaired  can  pass  the  outer  courts." 

"  There  it  is !  Epigrams  and  bon-mots  drop 
from  your  lips  as  pearls  and  diamonds  used  to 
tumble  out  whenever  the  good  little  girl  in  the 
Fairy-tale  opened  her  mouth.  As  to  millions  of 
money — bah  !  "  with  a  gesture  of  royal  disdain. 
"  Our  best  people  are  not  the  richest.  The  true 
New  Yorker  knows  that.  Of  course  one  must 
live  and  dress  well,  but  your  husband's  means 
amply  warrant  that.  Jack  says  cashiers  get  from 
ten  to  fifteen  thousand  dollars  a  year.  Your 
face,  your  manner,  and  your  talents  are  all  the 


210  A   SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

passport  you  require  when  once  you  are  intro- 
duced. I  claim  the  privilege  of  doing  it.  And, 
as  an  initial  step,  I  want  you  and  Mr.  Cornell  to 
dine  with  us  to-morrow  evening.  I'll  ask  six  or 
eight  of  the  nicest  people  I  know  to  meet  you. 
They'll  excuse  the  shortness  of  the  notice  when 
they  see  what  a  reason  I  have  for  calling  them 
together.  Put  on  a  pretty  gown  and  look  your 
loveliest  and  bring  along  some  music.  I  mean 
that  you  shall  capture  all  hearts.  I  shall  be 
grieved  to  the  quick  if  you  don't.  The  hour  will 
be  seven — sharp.  Punctuality  is  the  soul  of  good 
humor  in  a  dinner  company.  I  must  run  away. 
I  have  an  appointment  with  a  tyrannical  dress- 
maker at  half-past  ten  ;  Mr.  Lincoln's  Literature 
Class  at  eleven  ;  a  luncheon  at  half-past  one  ;  and 
afternoon  tea,  anywhere  from  four  to  six ;  a 
dinner  party,  and  after  that  the  opera.  Such  a 
whirl !  Yet,  as  I  say  to  Jack  when  he  grumbles 
that  we  never  have  a  quiet  home  evening — it  is 
the  only  life  worth  living,  as  you'll  own  when 
you've  had  a  taste  of  it !  (You  dear  thing !  it 
rests  my  tired  eyes  just  to  look  at  you  !)  Here's 
Jack's  card  for  Mr.  Cornell.  I'm  just  dying  to 
see  him  and  if  he  is  good  enough  for  you." 

"  A  great  deal  too  good  ! "  ejaculated  Susie, 
earnestly,  through  this  accidental  gap  in  the 
monologue.  "  The  dearest,  most  generous 
fellow ! " 

"  Cela  va  sans  dire — with  the  Brooklyn  model ! 


A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS.  21 1 

I'm  so  happy  that  you  are  one  of  us,  and  no 
longer  a  pattern  article.  Good-by !  " 

"  There !  I  let  her  go  without  showing  her  the 
children,"  reflected  Mrs.  Cornell,  when  she  got 
back  her  breath.  "  But  we  had  so  much  to  talk 
of  it  is  no  wonder  we  forgot  them.  There  are  no 
friends  like  the  old  friends.  How  unjust  we  are 
sometimes  !  I  came  near  not  sending  her  my 
card  because  she  had  never  been  over  to  Brooklyn 
to  see  me  all  the  while  I  was  there.  And  Arthur 
advised  me  against  doing  it.  He  would  have  it 
that  it  is  no  further  from  New  York  to  Brook- 
lyn than  from  Brooklyn  to  New  York.  He  pre- 
dicted, too,  that  she  would  never  come  to  see  me 
here.  He  says  there's  no  other  memory  so  short 
as  that  of  a  woman  who  has  risen  fast  upon 
the  social  ladder.  This  ought  to  be  a  lesson  in 
Christian  charity  to  us  both.  Kitty's  heart  is 
always  in  the  right  place." 

With  a  becoming  mantling  of  rose-pink  in  her 
cheeks,  she  went  singing  about  her  "  drawing " 
rooms,  altering  the  angle  of  chairs  and  sofas, 
and  the  arrangement  of  bric-a-brac,  already  view- 
ing her  appointments  through  Kitty's  eye-glasses. 
Her  thoughts  were  running  upon  the  projected 
dinner  party.  She  was  the  proud  owner  of  a 
black  velvet  gown  with  a  trained  skirt,  and  a 
V-shaped  front,  and  of  dainty  laces  wherewith  to 
fill  the  triangle.  She  had  a  diamond  pin  and  ear- 
rings— wedding  gifts  from  the  wealthy  aunt  for 


212  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

whom  she  was  named.  The  same  generous  rela- 
tive had  bestowed  upon  her,  at  different  holiday 
seasons,  the  rugs  and  pictures  that  adorned  her 
house.  Aunt  Susan  might  always  be  depended 
upon  to  do  the  handsome  thing,  and  she  was 
fond  of  this  niece  and  her  "  steady "  husband. 
The  home  of  Susie's  girlhood  had  been  more 
plainly  furnished,  as  Kitty  had  known  and  must 
recollect.  It  was  natural  that  the  elegant  grace 
characterizing  Mrs.  Cornell's  abode  should  mis- 
lead the  shrewd  observer  in  the  estimate  of  the 
cashier's  income.  Without  surmising  what  had 
suggested  the  remark,  or  that  it  was  a  "  feeler," 
Mrs.  Cornell  smiled,  yet  a  little  uneasily,  in  recall- 
ing it. 

"  Kitty  is  so  used  to  hearing  of  big  sums  that 
her  ideas  are  vague  on  the  subject  of  salaries," 
meditated  the  better  informed  wife.  "  She 
doesn't  dream  how  handsomely  people  can  live 
on  six  thousand  dollars.  Or  that  we  got  along 
on  one-half  that  much  in  Brooklyn  and  laid  aside 
something  yearly.  It  is  none  of  my  business  to 
set  her  right.  Arthur  doesn't  care  to  have  his 
money  affairs  discussed." 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  as  a  possibility  that 
from  the  pardonable  disingenuousness  any  serious 
trouble  could  ever  arise,  yet  she  knew  what 
Arthur  would  say.  She  heard,  in  imagination, 
his  warning: 

"  Never  sail  under  false  colors,  Susie  !  " 


A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS.  213 

Therefore,  in  her  animated  description  of  call 
and  conversation,  she  omitted  all  mention  of 
Kitty's  tentative  allusion  to  their  income.  Not 
knowing  his  wife's  old  comrade,  he  might  think 
her  prying  and  impertinent  in  touching  upon 
such  a  subject  at  all.  Poor,  dear  Kitty  !  there 
were  disadvantages  in  being  so  impetuously  frank. 
A  clear-headed  cool  reasoner  like  Arthur,  for 
instance,  was  almost  sure  to  misread  her. 

As  our  heroine  had  told  Kitty,  her  married  life 
had  been  quiet.  Her  vivacious  friend  would  have 
called  it  "  stupid."  The  circle  of  congenial  friends 
had  been  circumscribed  and  most  of  them  were 
people  of  moderate  means  and  desires.  Brooklyn 
might  be  called  a  segregation  of  neighborhoods, 
each  district  having  manners,  customs,  and  social 
code  peculiar  to  the  village  that  was  its  germ. 
As  one  settlement  ran  into  another,  a  city  grew 
that  claims  the  respect  of  the  mightier  sister 
across  the  river.  The  Cornells  had  lived  in  a 
pleasant  house  in  a  pleasant  street,  and  Susie  had 
spoken  truly  in  saying  that  they  lived  well.  With 
no  pretense  of  entertaining,  they  were  cordially 
hospitable,  "  having "  friends  to  supper,  or  to 
pass  the  evening,  whenever  fair  occasion  offered. 
For  the  children's  sake  the  mother  took  her 
principal  meal  with  them  at  one  o'clock,  but  the 
hearty  tea  prepared  for  the  father  who  had 
lunched  frugally  in  town  was  invariably  appetiz- 
ing, being  well  cooked  and  daintily  served.  He 


214  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

had  the  privilege  not  always  accorded  to  richer 
men  who  sit  down  daily  to  late  "  course  dinners" 
— that  of  bringing  a  crony  home  with  him  when- 
ever he  pleased.  It  was  like  Arthur  Cornell  to 
choose  as  chance  guests  men  who  had  not  such 
homes  as  his — bank  clerks  from  the  country, 
Bohemian  artists  of  good  character  and  light 
purses,  and  the  like.  Such  were  the  honored 
recipients  of  the  hostess'  smile  and  warm  hand- 
shake. She  had  won  the  admiring  reverence  of 
more  than  one  homeless  bachelor  by  her  skill 
in  delicate  and  savory  cookery  and  the  gracious 
friendliness  of  her  welcome,  and  these,  oftener 
than  any  other  class,  composed  the  delighted 
audience  of  the  music  Arthur  called  for  every 
evening. 

Once  or  twice  a  month  husband  and  wife  went 
to  the  theater  or  a  concert,  and  twice  or  at  the 
most  three  times  a  year  to  the  opera.  They 
were  pretty  sure  to  have  complimentary  tickets 
to  the  water-color  exhibition  and  other  displays 
of  paintings  in  Brooklyn  or  New  York.  Of 
receptions,  they  knew  comparatively  little  except 
such  as  followed  weddings  among  their  acquaint- 
ances. Neither  had  ever  attended  a  regular 
dinner  party  gotten  up  by  a  professional  caterer, 
and  the  ladies'  luncheon  of  eight,  ten,  or  a  dozen 
courses  was  unknown  by  the  seeing  of  the  eyes 
and  the  tasting  of  the  palate  to  the  bright  woman 
whose  social  successes  in  a  new  arena  were  fore- 


A   SOCIAL  SUCCESS.  815 

told  by  the  sanguine  admirer  who  craved  the 
pleasure  of  bringing  her  out.  There  are  still  in 
fast  growing  American  cities  tens  of  thousands 
of  such  people  who  live  honestly,  comfortably, 
and  beneficently,  and  whose  homes  are  refined 
centers  of  happiness  and  goodness. 

There  was,  then,  cause  for  the  wife's  pleasura- 
ble flutter  of  spirits  and  the  doubtful  satisfaction 
expressed,  against  his  intention,  in  the  husband's 
visage  at  the  close  prospect  of  a  state  banquet 
given  in  honor  of  their  undistinguished  selves,  at 
which  anonymous  edibles  would  be  washed  down 
with  foreign  wines,  and  spicy  entries  be  punctu- 
ated by  spicy  hors  d'ceuvres.  Arthur's  predomi- 
nant quality  was  sound  sense,  and  as  his  spouse 
had  anticipated,  his  first  emotion  after  hearing 
her  tale  was  wonder  at  the  sudden  and  violent 
increase  of  friendship  consequent  upon  their 
change  of  residence,  in  one  who  had  apparently 
forgotten  the  unimportant  fact  of  her  favorite 
schoolfellow's  existence  for  more  than  five 
years. 

"  I  can't  imagine  why  she  should  care  to  take 
us  up  now,"  he  demurred. 

Susie's  ready  flush  testified  to  the  hurt  he  had 
dealt  her  pride  or  affections.  She  thought  to  the 
latter. 

"  If  you  would  only  not  let  your  prejudice 
master  your  reason  !  "  she  sighed.  "  All  New 
York  women  hate  and  dread  ferries." 


ai6  A   SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

"  There  is  the  Bridge  !  "  put  in  the  Brooklyn- 
born  literalist. 

"  Which  would  have  taken  visitors  miles  away 
from  us.  I  was  afraid  you  would  wet-blanket 
the  whole  affair.  I  really  dreaded  to  tell  you  of 
what  I  was  silly  enough  to  look  forward  to  with 
pleasure.  You  see  you  don't  know  what  a  fine, 
genuine  creature  Kitty  is.  But  we  won't  dispute 
over  her  or  her  dinner  party.  I  can  write  to  her 
and  say  that  we  regret  our  inability  to  accept  the 
invitation." 

Arthur  closed  his  teeth  upon  another  struggling 
sentence.  Although  even  less  of  a  society  man 
than  she  was  of  a  society  woman,  he  had  a  definite 
impression  that  invitations  to  dinner  were  usually 
sent  out  some  days  in  advance  of  the  "  occasion." 
Less  distinct,  because  intuitive,  was  the  idea  that 
gay  young  women,  already  laden  with  social  obli- 
gations, did  not  press  attentions  upon  everyday 
folk  from  Brooklyn,  E.  D.,  unless  they  hoped  to 
gain  something  by  it,  or  were  addicted  to  patron- 
age. The  former  hypothesis  being,  as  he  con- 
ceived, untenable,  it  followed  that  Mrs.  Hitt,  a 
good-natured  rattle,  must  have  said  more  than 
she  meant  of  her  intentions  toward  the  strangers, 
or  that  she  had  a  native  fondness  for  playing  the 
lady  patroness. 

Loving  and  admiring  his  wife  from  the  full 
depths  of  a  quiet  heart,  he  held  all  this  back. 
Susie  was  vivacious,  ready  of  wit  and  speech,  and 


A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS.  217 

he  was  not.  She  dearly  enjoyed  excitement  and 
new  acquaintances.  Give  him  dressing  jacket, 
slippers,  and  an  interesting  book,  or  his  wife's 
music  and  his  own  fireside,  and  he  would  not 
have  exchanged  places  with  Ward  Macallister  at 
his  complacent  best.  Susie  would  shine  any- 
where ;  she  was  born  to  it !  He  was  not  even  a 
first-class  reflector  of  her  rays.  Yet  this  noblest 
of  women  had  stood  by  him  with  cheerful  gallan- 
try in  their  less  prosperous  days.  He  had  told 
her  over  and  over  that  she  had  hidden  her  light 
under  a  bushel  in  becoming  the  mistress  of  such 
a  home  as  he  had  to  give  her,  but  she  had  loyally 
denied  this,  and  borne  her  part  bravely  in  the 
struggle  to  lap  the  non-elastic  ends  of  their  com- 
mon income.  To  her  capital  management  he 
owed  much  of  their  present  comfort. 

Arthur  Cornell  reasoned  slowly,  but  always  in  a 
straight  line. 

"  I  am  a  selfish,  brutal  fellow,  darling,"  he  said 
at  this  point  of  his  cogitations.  "  I  am  afraid  I 
am  a  little  tired  to-night.  We  have  had  a  busy 
day  at  the  Bank.  You  mustn't  mind  my  growls. 
When  we  have  had  sup — dinner,  I  would  say!— 
you'll  find  me  more  than  willing  to  listen  and 
sympathize." 

Her  satisfactory  answer  was  to  come  over  and 
kiss  him  silently,  taking  his  head  between  her 
hands  and  laying  her  cheek  upon  it.  The  hair 
was  getting  thin  on  the  top,  and  the  gaslight 


2l8  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

brought  into  gleaming  conspicuousness  a  few  gray 
hairs.  He  was  older  than  she  by  nine  years. 
It  would  not  be  surprising  if,  for  a  long  time  yet, 
he  continued  to  say"  supper  "  instead  of  "  dinner." 
She  was  certain  he  would  never  learn  to  talk  of 
the  "  drawing  room."  But  he  was  her  very  own, 
and  dearly  beloved,  and  the  kindest,  noblest 
fellow  in  the  world.  Whatever  he  might  do  or 
say,  she  could  never  be  angry  with  or  ashamed 
of  him. 


PART  II. 

THE  evening  meal — an  excellent  one,  to  which 
Mr.  Cornell  did  ample  justice — was  over.  Father 
and  mother,  as  was  their  custom,  had  visited  the 
nursery  in  company,  heard  the  children's  prayers, 
and  kissed  them  "good-night."  The  orderly 
household  had  settled  down  into  cheerful  quiet 
that  fell  like  dew  upon  weary  nerves.  Susie  went 
to  the  piano  presently  and  played  a  pensive  noc- 
turne, then  sang  softly  a  couple  of  Arthur's  favor- 
ite ballads.  The  night  was  blustering,  and  in  the 
silence  succeeding  the  music,  the  wedded  pair, 
seated  before  the  soft-coal  fire  in  the  back  parlor, 
heard  the  hurrying  tread  of  passers-by  echoing 
sharply  from  the  frozen  stones. 

Arthur  ended  the  restful  pause.  His  choice  of 
a  theme  and  the  lightness  of  his  tone  were  heroic. 

"  Low  neck  and  short  sleeves  for  me  to- 
morrow night,  I  suppose,  old  lady  ?  That  is  to 
say,  claw-hammer,  and  low-cut  vest.  It's  lucky 
I  had  them  made  for  Lou  Wilson's  wedding  last 
winter.  There  wouldn't  be  time  to  get  up  the 
proper  rig,  and  regrets  based  upon  '  No  dress- 
coat  '  would  be  rather  awkward." 

"  Decidedly!     No  man  of  whatever  age  should 


220  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

be  without  one,"  rejoined  the  nascent  fashionist. 
"  Some  men  never  sit  down  to  dinner  except  in 
evening  dress.  It  must  be  very  nice  to  live  in 
that  way.  I  like  such  graceful  ceremony  in  every- 
day customs." 

Arthur  cast  about  for  something  neater  to  say 
than  the  dismayed  ejaculation  bitten  off  just  in 
time. 

"  It  must  help  a  fellow  to  feel  altogether  at  his 
ease  in  his  company  accouterments  " — inspiration 
coming  in  the  nick  of  time.  "  Most  men  look, 
and,  judging  by  myself,  feel  like  newly  imported 
restaurant  waiters  when  decked  out  in  their 
swallow-tails." 

The  conventional  "  dress  coat  "  is  a  shrewd  test 
of  innate  gentlehood.  A  thoroughbred  is  never 
more  truly  one  than  when  thus  appareled.  The 
best  it  can  do  for  the  plebeian,  who  would  prefer 
to  eat  his  dinner  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  is  to  bring 
him  up  to  the  level  of  a  hotel  waiter. 

Arthur  looked  like  an  unassuming  gentleman 
on  the  following  evening,  when  he  joined  his  wife 
below-stairs.  If  he  had  not  an  air  of  fashion,  he 
had  not  a  touch  of  the  vulgarian.  Susie's  mien 
was,  as  he  assured  her,  that  of  a  queen.  Her 
head  was  set  well  above  a  pair  of  graceful 
shoulders,  she  carried  herself  and  managed  her 
train  cleverly.  Arthur  had  brought  her  a  cluster 
of  pink  roses,  all  of  which  she  wore  in  her  cor- 
sage except  one  bud  which  she  pinned  in  his 


A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS.  221 

buttonhole.  He  put  a  careful  finger  under  her 
chin,  and  lifted  her  face  to  let  the  full  light  of  the 
chandelier  rain  upon  it. 

41  It  would  have  been  a  pity  to  keep  you  all  to 
myself  to-night,"  he  said. 

The  weather  was  raw,  with  menace  of  rain  or 
snow,  but  neither  of  them  thought  of  the  extrav- 
agance of  a  carriage.  As  she  had  done  upon 
previous  festal  occasions,  the  wife  looped  up  the 
trailing  breadths  of  velvet,  and  secured  them  into 
a  "  walking  length  "  of  skirt  with  safety  pins. 
Over  her  gala  attire  she  cast  a  voluminous  water- 
proof, buttoned  all  the  way  down  the  front.  A 
bonnet  would  have  deranged  her  coiffure,  and  she 
wore,  instead,  a  black  Spanish  lace  scarf  knotted 
under  her  chin.  Slippers  and  light  gloves  went 
in  a  reticule  slung  upon  her  arm. 

It  lacked  five  minutes  of  seven  when  they 
alighted  from  a  street-car  within  a  block  of  the 
Hitts*  abode.  Four  carriages  were  in  line  before 
the  door,  and  from  these  stepped  men  swathed  in 
long,  light  ulsters,  who  assisted  to  alight  and 
ascend  the  stone  steps  apparitions  in  furred  and 
embroidered  opera  cloaks  that  ravished  Susie's 
wits,  in  the  swift  transit  of  the  gorgeous  beings 
from  curbstone  to  the  hospitable  entrance.  A 
dizzying  sensation  of  unreality,  such  as  one  ex- 
periences in  finding  himself  unexpectedly  upon  a 
great  height,  seized  upon  her.  Could  these  peo- 
ple be  collected  to  meet  her?  Humbled,  yet 


222  A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS. 

elated,  she  entered  the  house,  and  obeying  the 
directions  of  the  footman  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
mounted  to  the  dressing  room. 

Four  women  in  such  elaborate  toilets  that  our 
heroine  felt  forthwith  like  a  crow  among  birds-of- 
paradise,  glanced  carelessly  over  their  shoulders 
at  her  without  suspending  their  chatter  to  one 
another,  and  went  on  talking  and  shaking  out 
their  draperies.  Each,  in  resigning  her  wraps  to 
the  maids  in  waiting,  stepped  forth  ready  for 
drawing-room  parade.  Susie  retreated  to  a  corner 
and  began  hurriedly  to  disembarrass  herself  of 
her  waterproof  and  to  let  down  her  skirt.  A  maid 
followed  her  presently. 

"  Can  I  help  you  ?  "  professionally  supercilious. 

"  Thank  you.  If  you  would  be  so  good  as  to 
take  off  my  boots,  I  should  be  obliged." 

The  formula  was  ill-advised  and  justified  the 
heightened  hauteur  of  the  smart  Abigail.  With 
pursed  mouth  and  disdainful  finger-tips,  she 
removed  the  evidences  that  the  wearer  had 
trudged  over  muddy  streets  to  get  here,  and  as 
gingerly  fitted  on  the  dry  slippers.  The  heat  in 
Susie's  cheeks  scorched  the  delicate  skin  when 
she  found  that  the  time  consumed  in  her  prepara- 
tions had  detained  her  above-stairs  after  every- 
body else  had  gone  down.  And  Kitty  had 
enjoined  punctuality  !  She  met  her  husband  in 
the  upper  hall  with  a  distressed  look. 

"  We  are  horribly  late,"  she  whispered. 


A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS.  223 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  makes  any  difference," 
responded  he  to  comfort  her.  "It's  fashionable 
to  be  late,  isn't  it?" 

"Not  at  dinners,"  she  had  barely  time  to 
admonish  him  when  they  crossed  the  threshold 
of  the  drawing  room. 

Kitty  advanced  with  empressement  to  meet 
them,  but  that  they  were  behind  time  was  mani- 
fest from  the  celerity  with  which  she  introduced 
her  husband,  and  without  the  interval  of  a  second, 
the  man  who  was  to  take  Mrs.  Cornell  in  to  dinner. 
Then  she  whisked  Mr.  Cornell  up  to  a  dried-up 
little  woman  in  pearl-colored  velvet,  presented 
him,  asked  him  to  take  charge  of  her  into  the 
dining  room,  herself  laid  hold  of  another  man's 
arm,  and  signaled  her  husband  to  lead  the  way. 

Arthur  seldom  lost  his  perceptive  and  reason- 
ing faculties,  and  having  read  descriptions  of  state 
dinners  and  breakfasts,  bethought  himself  that 
had  his  wife  and  himself  been  in  truth  chief 
guests,  they  would  have  been  paired  off  with  host 
and  hostess.  Moreover,  although  there  was  a 
vast  deal  of  talking  at  table  and  he  did  his  con- 
scientious best  to  make  conversation  with  the 
velvet-clad  mummy  consigned  to  him,  he  had  all 
the  time  the  feeling  of  being  left  out  in  the  cold. 
Nobody  addressed  him  directly  in  word,  or  in- 
directly by  glance,  and  at  length,  in  gentlemanly 
despair  of  diverting  the  attention  of  his  fair  com- 
panion from  her  plate  to  himself,  he  let  her  eat  in 


324  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

peace  and  pleased  himself  by  comparing  the  rosy, 
piquant  face  of  his  wife  with  the  bismuth-and- 
rouge-powdered  visages  to  the  right,  left,  and  front 
of  her.  Susie  seemed  to  be  getting  on  swim- 
mingly. The  man  next  to  her  was  chatting  gayly, 
and  evidently  recognized  a  responsive  spirit  in  his 
fair  companion.  How  easily  and  naturally  she 
met  his  advances,  and  how  gracefully  she  fitted 
into  her  novel  position  !  What  were  pomps  and 
vanities  to  him  accorded  with  her  tastes.  Again 
he  thought  how  niggardly  would  have  been  the 
refusal  to  allow  her  to  take  the  place  she  so 
adorned. 

Not  even  love's  eye  penetrated  the  doughty 
visor  she  kept  jealously  closed  throughout  the 
meal.  To  begin  with,  she  took  the  -wrong  fork 
for  the  raw  oysters  !  As  course  succeeded  course, 
the  dreadful  implement,  in  style  so  unlike  those 
left  beside  other  plates,  actually  grinned  at  her 
with  every  prong.  Everybody  must  be  aware  of 
the  solecism  and  deduce  the  truth  that  this  was 
her  first  dinner  party.  She  was  sure  that  she 
caught  the  waiters  exchanging  winks  over  the 
fork,  and  that  out  of  sheer  malice,  they  allowed 
the  tell-tale  to  lie  in  full  sight.  The  apprehension 
that  she  would  eventually  be  compelled  to  use 
the  frail  absurdity  or  leave  untouched  some- 
thing— meat  or  game,  perhaps — assailed  her. 
While  she  hearkened  to  the  flippant  nothings  her 
escort  mistook  for  elegant  small-talk,  and  plucked 


A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS.  225 

up  heart  for  repartee,  hot  and  cold  sweats  broke 
out  all  over  her.  Had  she  obeyed  inclination  that 
approximated  frenzy  at  times,  she  would  have 
crept  under  the  table  and  rolled  over  on  the  floor 
in  anguished  mortification.  If  her  sleight-of-hand 
had  been  equal  to  the  rash  adventure,  she  would 
have  pocketed  the  wretched  bugbear  in  despera- 
tion akin  to  that  which  makes  the  murderer  fling 
far  from  him  the  weapon  with  which  the  deed 
was  done. 

When  the  ghastly  petty  torture  was  ended  by 
the  removal  of  the  obnoxious  article,  and  the  sub- 
stitution of  one  larger,  plainer,  and  less  obvious, 
the  poor  woman  could  have  kissed  the  perfunc- 
tory hand  that  lifted  the  incubus  from  her  soul. 

She  made  other  blunders,  but  none  that  were 
so  glaring  as  this.  Each  was  a  lesson  and  a 
stimulus  to  perfect  herself  in  the  minutics  of  social 
etiquette.  Before  long,  she  would  need  no  school- 
ing ;  would  lead,  instead  of  following.  She  would 
know  better  another  time,  too,  how  to  dress  her- 
self. Kitty's  gown  of  cream-colored  faille, 
flounced  with  lace ;  the  pale  blue  brocade  of  one 
woman,  and  the  pink-and-silver  bravery  of  a  third, 
the  maize  velvet  and  black  lace  of  the  dowager 
across  the  table,  and  the  mauve-and-white  marvel 
of  still  another  toilet,  threw  her  apparel  into 
blackest  shade.  She  caught  herself  hoping  people 
would  think  that  she  was  in  slight  mourning. 
Besides  her  allotted  attendant  nobody  at  table 


226  A    SOCIAL  SUCCESS. 

spoke  a  word  to  her,  but  Kitty  shot  many  a  smile 
at  her  during  the  feast,  and  nodded  several  times 
in  significance  that  might  be  approval  or  reassur- 
ance. Mr.  Hitt,  a  rather  handsome  man  with 
big,  bold  eyes,  looked  hard  at  her  now  and  then, 
but  did  not  accost  her,  even  after  he  grew  talk- 
ative under  the  faster  flow  of  wine.  His  glasses 
were  filled  so  often  and  emptied  so  quickly  that 
Susie  wondered  to  see  his  wife's  smiling  uncon- 
cern. Perhaps  she  had  faith  in  the  strength  of 
his  brain. 

Arthur  did  not  touch  one  of  the  five  chalices  of 
different  shapes  and  colors  flanking  his  plate,  and 
Susie  was  weak  enough,  perceiving  that  his  con- 
duct in  this  respect  was  exceptional,  to  feel  morti- 
fied by  his  eccentricity.  It  was  in  bad  taste,  she 
thought,  to  offer  tacit  censure  of  the  practice  of 
host  and  fellow-guests.  To  nullify  the  unfavor- 
able impression  of  her  husband's  singularity,  she 
sipped  from  each  of  her  glasses,  and  dipped  so 
deeply  into  the  iced  champagne  which  cooled  thirst 
excited  by  highly  seasoned  viands,  the  heated 
room  and  agitation  of  spirits,  that  her  bloom  was 
more  vivid  when  she  arose  from  dinner  than  when 
she  sat  down.  She  was  quite  at  ease  now,  and 
enjoying,  with  the  zest  of  an  artistic  nature,  the 
features  of  the  novel  scene. 

The  tempered  light  streaming  over  and  repeated 
by  silver,  china,  and  cut-glass  ;  the  flower-borders 
that  criss-crossed  the  lace  table-cover  laid  over 


A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS.  227 

rose-colored  satin,  the  superb  costumes  of  the 
women  and  the  faultless  garments  of  the  men  ; 
the  rapid,  noiseless  exchange  of  one  delicacy  for 
another,  some  of  the  dishes  being  as  new  to  her 
as  would  have  been  an  entree  of  peacocks'  brains 
or  a  salmi  oi  nightingales' tongues — were  fascinat- 
ing to  one  whose  love  of  the  picturesque  and 
beautiful  was  a  passion.  This  was  the  sort  of 
thing  she  had  read  of  in  English  novels  and 
American  newspapers,  the  enchanting  mode  of 
life  for  which  she  had  yearned  secretly,  the  atmos- 
phere in  which  she  should  have  been  born. 

The  return  in  feminine  file  to  the  drawing  room 
of  part  of  the  company  was  a  stage  of  the  pageant 
with  which  Jane  Eyre's  life  at  Thornhill,  and 
Annie  Edwards'  and  Ouida's  stories  of  hospitality 
at  English  country  houses  had  made  her  familiar. 
She  hoped  nobody  else  noticed  Arthur's  surprised 
stare,  as  the  men  arose  and  remained  standing, 
with  no  movement  in  the  direction  of  the  escap- 
ing fair  ones.  With  flutter  and  buzz  and  silken 
rustle,  the  dames  swept  through  the  hall  back 
into  the  drawing  room  and  disposed  themselves 
upon  couches  and  in  easy-chairs,  where  tiny 
glasses  of  perfumed  liqueur  were  handed  to  them. 

"  Exactly  like  a  story  of  Oriental  life,"  mused 
entranced  Susie. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  Kitty  had  the  oppor- 
tunity to  show  to  her  school-friend  the  pointed 
and  peculiar  attentions  the  rhapsodies  of  yester- 


228  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

day  had  authorized  her  to  expect.  Up  to  this 
moment  nobody  had  been  introduced  to  her 
except  the  man  who  took  her  to  dinner. 

"  I  must  have  you  know  all  these  friends  of 
mine,"  she  purred,  taking  Susie's  hand  in  both  of 
hers,  and  leading  her  with  engaging  "  gush  "  up 
to  the  mauve-and-white  marvel. 

"Mrs.  Vansittart,  this  is  my  dear  old  school- 
fellow, Mrs.  Cornell,  who  is  going  to  play  some- 
thing for  us  now,  and  after  a  while,  to  sing  several 
somethings,  and  when  our  audience  is  enlarged 
by  the  return  of  the  men  to  us  lorn  women,  she 
will,  if  properly  entreated,  give  us  some  of  her 
charming  recitations.  Ah  !  you  may  well  look 
surprised.  It  is  granted  to  few  women  to  com- 
bine so  many  talents,  but  when  you  have  heard 
her,  you  will  see  that  I  do  not  promise  too  much. 

"  Mrs.  Roberts  ! "  to  the  symphony  in  pink- 
and-silver — "  I  bespeak  your  admiration  for  my 
friend  and  school-crony" — etc.,  etc.,  until  the 
blushing  debutante  was  the  focus  of  six  pairs  of 
eyes,  critical,  indifferent,  and  amiable,  and  wished 
that  dear  Kitty  were  not  so  incorrigibly  enthusi- 
astic in  praising  those  she  loved. 

Anyone  but  a  refined  novice  would  have 
divined  at  once  that  the  act  of  passing  her  around, 
like  a  plate  of  hot  cakes,  argued  one  of  two 
things — either  that  she  was  a  "  professional "  of 
some  sort,  or  that  her  hostess  was  lamentably 
ignorant  of  the  law  demanding  that  the  one  to  be 


A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS.  229 

honored  by  an  introduction  should  stand  still  and 
have  the  other  party  to  the  ceremony  brought  to 
her.  Kitty,  at  least,  was  no  novice,  and  every- 
body except  her  "  school-crony  "  comprehended 
exactly  what  the  scene  meant.  Although  she 
did  not  suspect  it,  she  was  on  trial  when  she  sat 
down  to  the  piano,  the  show-woman  beside  her, 
as  the  guileless  guest  supposed,  to  give  her  affec- 
tionate encouragement.  The  first  flash  of  her 
fingers  across  the  keys  was  the  signal  for  general 
silence,  and  the  clapping  of  gloved  hands  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  brilliant  overture  attested  intel- 
ligent appreciation.  She  was  not  allowed  to 
leave  the  music  stool  for  half  an  hour,  one  piece 
after  another  being  called  for,  and  the  choice  of 
selections  putting  her  on  her  mettle.  Her  audi- 
tors were  used  to  good  music,  and  the  assumption 
that  she  would  gratify  them  was  a  delicate  com- 
pliment. 

Kitty  came  to  her  elbow  at  length  with  a  glass 
of  clear  liquid,  sparkling  with  pounded  ice. 

"  Only  lime-juice  and  water,"  she  whispered, 
"  to  clear  your  voice.  I  have  praised  your  sing- 
ing until  everybody  is  wild  to  hear  you." 

Susie  smiled  happily,  glancing  over  her  shoul- 
der with  an  unconscious  and  graceful  gesture  of 
gratitude ;  a  bow,  slight,  but  comprehensive,  she 
might  have  but  had  not  copied  from  a  popular 
prima  donna.  Another  rapid  run  of  the  nimble 
fingers  over  the  responsive  ivory,  and  she  glided 


230  A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS, 

into  the  prelude  to  Gounod's  never-trite  song, 
"  Chaniez  !  Riez  !  Dormez  !  " 

She  had  sung  but  a  few  bars  when  her  ear 
caught  the  muffled  tread  of  feet  in  the  hall.  A 
side-glance  at  the  mirror  showed  her  a  picture 
that  might  have  been  clipped  from  her  British 
contes  de  socittS,  the  grouping  of  manly  faces  and 
fashionable  dress  coats  in  the  curtained  arch,  all 
intent  upon  herself  as  the  enchantress  who  held 
them  mute  and  eager.  Electric  fire  streamed 
through  her  veins,  her  voice  soared  and  swelled 
as  never  before  ;  her  enunciation,  exquisitely  pure 
and  clear,  carried  each  word  up  to  the  loftiest 
story  of  the  stilled  mansion : 

"  Ah  !    riez,  ma  belle  !    riez  !    riez,  toujours  !  " 

"  Fine,  by  Jove,  now !  "  cried  a  big  mustached 
man  at  Arthur's  side,  as  the  last  notes  died  upon 
ecstatic  ears.  "Patti  couldn't  have  done  it 
better ! " 

The  husband  repeated  this  with  other  encomi- 
ums to  the  songstress  after  they  got  home.  He 
made  the  tired  but  animated  little  woman  sit 
down  in  an  armchair  and  pulled  off  her  rubbers 
and  unbuttoned  her  boots  in  far  different  fashion 
from  that  in  which  the  sleepy  Abigail  had  put 
them  on  the  feet  and  helped  truss  up  the  train  of 
"the  woman  who  hadn't  come  in  a  carriage  like 
decent  folks." 

He  had  had  a  stupid  evening.  He  couldn't 
make  the  women  talk  to  him.  He  was  not  "  a 


A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS.  23 * 

ladies'  man,"  and  every  mother's  daughter  of 
them  took  in  the  truth  at  a  glance.  The  men 
gabbled  over  their  wine  of  what  did  not  interest 
him,  of  clubs  and  horse  races,  and  the  fluctuations 
of  fancy  stocks.  He  neither  smoked  nor  drank, 
and  was  the  only  man  there  who  did  not  do  both. 
His  wife's  music  was  to  him  the  only  redeeming 
feature  of  the  occasion,  and  he  would  have 
enjoyed  that  more  in  his  own  parlor.  But  she 
was  enraptured  with  everything  and  full  of  delight- 
ful anticipations.  "  Everybody  had  been  so  nice 
and  kind,  and  what  did  ill-natured  people  mean 
by  saying  there  was  no  real  sociability  among 
fashionable  people  ?  For  her  part,  she  believed 
that  the  higher  one  mounted  in  the  social  scale 
the  more  genuine  goodness  and  refined  feeling 
she  would  find."  Several  of  the  ladies  had 
promised  to  call  upon  her,  and,  as  one  said,  "  to 
take  her  in  with  them." 

Arthur  hearkened  silently.  He  had  never  been 
able  to  give  her  such  pleasures,  a  fact  that  smote 
him  hard  when  he  saw  how  zestfully  she  drank  of 
the  newly  opened  spring.  He  would  not  "  wet- 
blanket  "  her  enthusiasm,  so  did  not  hint  at  a 
discovery  made  to  him  by  a  chance  remark  of  a 
guest  to  the  host.  Invitations  for  this  particular 
dinner  party  had  been  out  for  ten  days. 

"  Then  Susie  and  I  were  second  fiddles,"  in- 
ferred the  sensible  cashier.  "  I  wonder  why  she 
asked  us  at  all  I " 


PART  III. 

MR.  CORNELL'S  unspoken  suspicion  that  Mrs. 
Hitt  would  drop  her  school-friend  as  suddenly  as 
she  had  picked  her  up  was  in  a  way  to  be  falsified, 
if  the  events  of  the  next  few  months  were  to  be 
taken  as  testimony. 

The  two  matrons  were  nearly  inseparable — 
shopping,  driving,  walking,  and  visiting  together. 
For  Susie  had  a  New  York  visiting  list  speedily, 
and  almost  every  name  stood  for  an  introduction 
by  her  indefatigable  "  trainer."  The  epithet  was 
the  taciturn  husband's,  and,  as  may  be  surmised, 
was  never  uttered  audibly.  Susie's  wardrobe, 
furniture,  table — her  very  modes  of  speech — sus- 
tained variations  that  amazed  old  friends  and 
confounded  him  who  knew  her  best.  The 
cherished  black  velvet  she  had  thought  "  hand- 
some enough  for  any  occasion  "  was  pronounced 
"  quaintly  becoming,  but  too  old  for  the  wearer  by 
twenty-five  years."  Slashed  and  dashed  and 
lashed  with  gold-color,  it  did  duty  as  a  house 
evening  gown.  For  small  luncheons,  she  had  a 
tailor-made  costume  of  fawn-colored  cloth  em- 
broidered and  combined  with  silk  ;  for  "  swell  " 
luncheons,  a  rich  silk — black  ground  relieved  by 
narrow  crimson  stripes,  and  made  en  demi-train. 


A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS.  233 

For  at-home  afternoons  were  two  tea  gowns ; 
before  she  received  her  second  dinner  invitation, 
she  had  made  oy  Mrs.  Hitt's  dressmaker — ("  a 
Frenchwoman  who  doesn't  know  enough  yet  to 
charge  American  prices,  my  dear,  and  I  hold  it 
to  be  a  sin  to  throw  money  away  ! ")  a  robe  of 
white  brocade  and  sea-green  velvet,  in  which  garb 
she  showed  like  a  moss-rose  bud,  according  to  her 
dear  friend  and  trumpeter. 

These  strides  into  the  realm  of  fashion,  if  at 
first  startling  to  the  debutante,  were  quickly 
acknowledged  to  be  imperatively  necessary  if  one 
would  really  live.  Kitty's  taste  in  dress  approxi- 
mated genius.  Even  she  was  hardly  prepared 
for  the  ready  following  of  her  neophyte. 

Had  she  needed  corroborative  evidence  of  the 
cashier's  liberal  income,  his  wife's  command  of 
considerable  sums  supplied  it.  With  all  her 
frankness,  Mrs.  Cornell  did  not  confide  to  her 
bosom-friend  where  she  obtained  the  ready 
money  that  gained  her  credit  with  new  trades- 
people. 

Now  and  then  an  uneasy  qualm  stirred  the 
would-be  comfortable  soul  of  the  wife  as  to  how 
much  or  how  little  Arthur  speculated  within  his 
sober  soul  upon  the  probable  cost  of  her  new  out- 
fit. There  were  two  thousand  dollars  deposited 
in  her  name,  and  drawing  interest  in  a  Brooklyn 
Savings  Bank.  The  rich  aunt  had  given  her  name- 
child  three-quarters  of  it  from  time  to  time.  The 


234  A   SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

young  couple  had  saved  the  rest,  and  it  was 
tacitly  understood  that  it  should  not  be  touched 
except  of  necessity.  No  landmark  in  her  new 
career  was  more  pronounced  than  Susie's  resort  to 
this  fund  for  the  equipment  without  which  her 
dawning  social  success  would,  she  felt,  lapse  into 
obscurity  more  ignominious  than  that  from  which 
she  had  emerged.  She  must  have  the  things 
represented  by  the  money,  and  intoxicated  though 
she  was,  she  had  still  too  much  sense  and  con- 
science to  deplete  her  husband's  purse  to  the 
extent  demanded  by  the  exigency.  He  would 
have  opened  an  artery  to  gratify  her,  had  heart's 
blood  been  coin,  but  she  knew  he  would  look 
grave  and  pained  did  he  suspect  her  visits  to  the 
Bank  and  their  result. 

He  was  sober  enough,  nowadays,  without 
additional  cause  of  discomfort.  When  questioned, 
he  averred  that  all  was  going  right  at  the  Bank, 
and  that  he  was  well.  Nor  would  he  confess  to 
loneliness  on  the  evenings  when  she  was  obliged 
to  leave  him  in  obedience  to  Kitty's  summons  to 
rehearsal  or  consultation  in  some  of  the  countless 
schemes  of  amusement  the  two  were  all  the  while 
concocting. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  come  for  me  or  to 
sit  up  for  me,  dear,"  the  pleasure-monger  would 
entreat  in  bidding  him  "  good-by."  "I'll  have 
one  of  the  maids  call  for  me,"  or  "  I  have  a  car- 
riage," or — and  after  a  time  this  was  most  fre- 


A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS.  235 

quent  of  all — "  Jack  Hitt  is  always  very  obliging 
about  bringing  me  home." 

With  a  smile  upon  his  lips  and  gravity  she  did 
not  read  in  his  eyes,  he  would  hand  her  to  the 
carriage,  or  commit  her  to  the  spruce  maid,  hop- 
ing that  she  would  have  a  pleasant  evening,  and 
having  stood  upon  the  steps  until  she  was  no 
longer  in  sight,  would  go  back — as  she  supposed — 
to  sitting  room  or  book.  Whereas,  it  grew  to  be 
more  and  more  a  habit  with  him  to  turn  into  the 
nursery  instead,  and  sit  there  in  the  dark  until  he 
heard  the  bustle  of  her  return  below-stairs.  He 
invariably  sat  up  for  her — she  never  asked  why 
or  where.  The  fire  burned  cheerily  to  welcome 
her,  and  the  offices  of  maid,  assumed,  in  the  be- 
ginning in  loverly  supererogation,  half  jest,  half 
caress,  were  now  duty  and  habit.  Upon  one  point 
he  was  resolute.  If  she  went  to  bed  late,  she 
must  sleep  late  next  morning.  This  was  a  matter 
of  health,  a  concession  she  owed  those  to  whom 
her  health  was  all-important. 

The  two  older  children  had  breakfasted  with 
their  parents  for  a  year,  and  he  made  much  of 
their  company  when  their  mother  was  not  the 
fourth  of  the  party.  Sometimes  he  sent  for  the 
baby  as  well,  holding  her  on  his  knee  with  one  hand, 
while  the  other  managed  coffee  cup  and  toast. 

Susie  surprised  him  thus  one  morning,  having 
awakened  unsummoned,  and  dressed  hastily  that 
she  might  see  him  before  he  went  out. 


236  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

"  Arthur  Cornell !  "  The  ejaculation  was  the 
first  intimation  he  had  of  her  presence.  "  You 
spoil  the  children  and  make  a  slave  of  yourself ! 
Where  is  their  nurse  ?  " 

"  Don't  blame  Ellen,  dear !  "  checking  her 
motion  toward  the  bell.  "  I  sent  for  the  children. 
They  are  very  good,  and  I  enjoy  their  com- 
pany." 

Mrs.  Cornell  flushed  hotly  ;  her  lips  were  com- 
pressed. 

"  I  understand  !  After  this,  I  will  make  a  point 
of  giving  you  your  breakfast.  It  was  never  my 
wish  to  lie  in  bed  until  this  hour." 

"  It  was — and  is  mine  !  "  rejoined  her  husband, 
steadily,  unmoved  by  her  unwonted  petulance. 
"  As  it  is,  you  are  pale  and  heavy-eyed.  You  have 
had  but  five  hours  of  sleep." 

"  My  head  aches !  "  passing  her  hand  over  her 
forehead.  "That  will  go  off,  by-and-by.  Baby! 
come  to  mamma,  and  let  dear  papa  get  his  break- 
fast in  peace.  Let  me  pour  out  a  cup  of  hot 
coffee  for  you,  first." 

Her  softened  tone  and  fond  smile  cleared  the 
atmosphere  for  them  all.  Arthur  sunned  himself 
in  her  presence  as  a  half-torpid  bird  on  an  early 
spring  day.  The  children  prattled  merrily  in  an- 
swer to  the  pretty  mother's  blandishments ;  the 
baby  stood  up  in  her  lap  to  make  her  fat  arms 
meet  behind  her  neck.  She  looked  pleadingly 
into  the  proud  face  bent  over  mother  and  child. 


A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS.  237 

He  was  startled  to  see  that  the  sweet  eyes  were 
misty. 

"  Dear!  can't  you  go  with  me  to-night?" 

He  fairly  staggered  at  the  unexpected  appeal. 

"  If  I  had  known "  he  began. 

"  Yes,  I  know  !  I  ought  to  have  spoken  before 
you  made  your  engagement.  I  was  careless — for- 
getful— silly !  I  do  nothing  but  silly  things  now- 
adays. But  I  wish  you  could  go,  darling ! " 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  impossible,"  said  Arthur  regret- 
fully. "  The  president  made  a  point  of  my  attend- 
ing the  meeting.  I  am  sorrier  than  you  can  be, 
little  wife." 

She  shook  her  head  and  tried  to  laugh. 

"  That  shows  how  little  you  know  about  it ! 
Don't  make  any  more  engagements  without  con- 
sulting me.  'I'm  ower  young' — not  'to  leave 
my  mammy  yet ' — but  to  be  running  about  the 
world  without  my  dear,  old,  steady-going  hus- 
band— and  I'm  not  willing  to  do  it  any  longer." 

He  carried  the  memory  of  words  and  glance 
with  him  all  day.  Coming  home  at  evening,  he 
found  a  note  from  her,  stating  that  Kitty  had 
sent  for  her. 

"  There  is  a  dress  rehearsal  at  seven,"  she 
wrote.  "  I  wish  you  could  be  there  and  see  how 
ravishing  I  can  be!  If  your  business  meeting 
is  over  by  ten  o'clock,  won't  you  slip  into  society 
toggery  and  come  around  in  season  to  see  'the 
old  lady'  home?" 


238  A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS. 

"  The  fever  has  run  its  course !  "  thought  the 
husband,  with  kindling  eyes.  "I  knew  I  should 
get  her  back  some  day." 

His  dinner  was  less  carefully  served  than  in  the 
olden  supper  days,  but  he  dined  as  with  the  gods, 
and  ran  briskly  upstairs  to  send  Ellen  down  to 
her  meal  while  he  undressed  the  children  and  put 
them  to  bed.  He  had  done  this  often  during  the 
winter,  pretending  to  make  a  joke  of  the  disrob- 
ing, but  knowing  it  to  be  duty  and  vicarious. 
According  to  his  ideas  the  mother  should  see  to 
it  in  person.  No  hireling,  whose  own  the  bairns 
are  not,  can  care  for  them  as  those  in  whose  veins 
runs  answering  kindred  blood.  Usually,  the  task 
was  done  in  heaviness  of  spirit.  To-night,  no 
effort  was  required  to  bring  laughter  to  his  lips, 
lightness  to  his  heart.  To-morrow  mamma  would 
breakfast  with  them,  and  resume  her  place  in  the 
home,  so  poorly  filled  by  him  or  anybody  else. 
She  had  come  back  to  them.  He  tried  to  sing 
one  of  her  lullabies  as  he  rocked  the  baby  to 
sleep,  but  failed  by  reason  of  a  "catch  in  his 
throat."  Mamma  would  warble  it  like  a  night- 
ingale to  them  to-morrow  night. 

The  business  meeting  was  unexpectedly  brief 
— "  Thanks,"  as  the  president  was  pleased  to  say, 
"  to  the  admirable  epitome  of  the  matter  in  hand 
prepared  and  presented  by  Mr.  Cornell." 

At  ten  o'clock  the  husband  was  in  his  dressing 
room,  hurrying  the  process  of  "  slipping  into  so- 


A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS.  239 

ciety  toggery."  He  repeated  the  phrase  aloud 
while  tying  his  cravat  with  fingers  uncertain  from 
nervous  haste.  He  was  thankful  beyond  expres- 
sion that  he  had  never  cast  the  shadow  of  his  dis- 
approval over  Susie's  spirits,  even  when  they 
threatened  to  carry  her  out  of  the  bounds  of 
reason.  She  was  young  and  pretty  ;  so  affluent 
of  vitality,  so  richly  endowed  with  talents,  that 
a  humdrum  fellow  like  himself  could  not  compre- 
hend the  stress  of  the  temptation  to  plunge  into 
and  riot  in  the  mad  vortex  of  social  parade. 

"  If  there  were  any  one  thing  I  could  do  as 
cleverly  as  she  does  everything,  I  should  be  doing 
it  all  the  time,"  he  confessed  in  contrite  candor. 

Yesterday  he  had  thanked  Heaven  that  Lent 
was  close  upon  the  panting  racers  over  the  pleas- 
ure grounds.  Now,  he  was  indifferent  to  the 
advance  and  duration  of  the  penitential  season. 
His  darling  had  returned  of  her  own  right-headed, 
right-hearted  self  to  the  sanctuary  of  home,  having 
detected,  unaided  by  his  pessimistic  strictures, 
the  miserable  vanity  and  carking  vexation  of  the 
hollow  system.  He  sewed  two  buttons  upon  his 
shirt  before  he  could  put  it  on,  and  when  he 
pushed  the  needle  through  a  hole  and  the  linen 
beneath  into  the  ball  of  his  thumb,  he  began  to 
whistle  "  Annie  Laurie." 

Susie  had  practiced  "  Annie  Laurie "  for  an 
hour  before  dinner  yesterday.  He  wondered  if 
she  had  sung  it  last  night  at  the  Hitts'.  She  had 


24°  A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS. 

been  overrun  with  business  of  late,  getting  ready 
for  the  chamber  concert  and  private  theatricals, 
and  mercy  knew  what  else  of  frolic  and  folly 
gotten  up  by  Mrs.  Hitt  for  the  benefit  of  the 
"  Industrial  Home  "  which  was  the  latest  charit- 
able fad  in  her  set.  He  had  paid  .ten  dollars  fora 
reserved  seat  last  week  at  the  behest  of  the  vola- 
tile Lady  Patroness.  She  had  let  him  have  it  "at 
a  bargain  because  he  had  the  good  luck  to  be 
Susie's  husband." 

"  Mr.  Vansittart  and  Mr.  Peltry  paid  fifty  apiece 
for  theirs,  and  I  made  Jack  give  me  thirty  for  his. 
My  rooms  will  seat  comfortably  just  one  hundred 
and  fifty  people,  and  I  won't  sell  a  ticket  over 
that  number  at  any  price.  None  will  be  for  sale 
at  the  door,  and  none  are  transferable.  Of  course, 
the  rush  for  them  is  fearful !  " 

Before  going  Arthur  peeped  into  the  nursery, 
dropping  the  most  cautious  of  kisses  upon  the 
cheek  and  forehead  of  each  sleeper.  Three-year 
old  Sue  made  up  her  lips  into  a  tempting  knot  as 
he  touched  her  velvety  face. 

"  Dee'  mamma  ! "  she  murmured  in  her  sleep. 

He  kissed  her  again  for  that,  the  "catch  in  his 
throat "  in  full  possession. 

"  I  don't  wonder  they  love  her  !  "  he  said  brok- 
enly. "  Who  could  help  it? " 

The  block  on  which  the  Hitt  mansion  stood  was 
lined  with  waiting  carriages,  and  Mr.  Cornell  sup- 
posed that  the  entertainment,  which  he  called  to 


A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS.  241 

himself  "a  show,"  must  be  nearly  over.  For  an 
instant,  he  meditated  waiting  without  until  the 
crowd  began  to  pour  out,  then,  making  his  way 
into  the  hall,  to  send  word  to  his  wife  that  he 
awaited  her  pleasure.  Something  in  the  immo- 
bility of  the  doors  changed  his  plan.  He  did  not 
care  to  lurk  for  an  hour  or  more  among  the  coach- 
men who  stamped  and  swore  upon  the  pavement, 
reminding  him  of  some  verses  Susie  had  read  to 
him  in  other  days  when  she  had  time  for  books 
and  the  talk  over  them  after  they  were  read.  He 
recalled  the  first  and  last  verses,  and  smiled  in 
going  through  the  discontented  ranks  and  up  the 
flight  of  stone  steps : 

"  My  coachman  in  the  moonlight  there 

Looks  through  the  side  light  of  the  door; 
I  hear  him  with  his  brethren  swear, 
As  I  could  do— but  only  more. 

Oh,  could  he  have  my  share  of  din. 

And  I  his  quiet ! — past  a  doubt, 
'Twould  still  be  one  man  bored  within, 

And  just  another  bored  without." 

A  surge  of  hot  and  scented  air  enveloped  him 
with  the  opening  of  the  door.  The  crowd  in  the 
hall  contradicted  the  hostess'  declaration  that  no 
more  people  would  be  admitted  than  could  be 
comfortably  accommodated.  Struggling  up  to 
the  dressing  room  he  got  rid  of  hat  and  overcoat, 
and  struggled  down  again  and  to  the  door  of  the 


242  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

rear  drawing  room.  A  curtain  was  rung  up  from 
a  stage  at  the  end  of  the  apartment  as  he  gained  a 
view  of  it. 

The  scene  was  the  interior  of  an  old-fashioned 
barn.  Wreaths  of  evergreen  hung  against  the 
walls  and  depended  from  the  rafters,  and  the  floor 
was  cleared  for  dancing.  From  a  door  at  the  side 
a  figure  tripped  into  the  middle  of  the  stage. 
Arthur  looked  twice  before  he  recognized  the 
wearer  of  the  colonial  gown  of  old-gold  brocade, 
brief  of  waist,  and  allowing  beneath  the  skirt 
glimpses  of  trim  ankles  in  clocked  stockings.  Her 
hair  was  piled  over  a  cushion  and  powdered ; 
eyebrows  and  lashes  were  deftly  darkened,  and 
the  carmine  of  cheek  and  mouth  owed  brilliancy 
to  rouge-pot  and  hare's  foot.  She  was  the  belle 
of  the  ball  to  be  held  in  the  barn,  and  while  wait- 
ing for  the  rest  of  the  revelers,  she  began  to  re- 
cite, in  soliloquy,  the  old  rhymes  of  Money  Musk. 

At  the  second  line,  from  an  unseen  orchestra, 
issued  low  and  faint,  like  the  echo  of  a  spent 
strain,  the  popular  dance  tune.  It  stole  so  in- 
sidiously upon  the  air  as  to  suggest  the  musical 
thought  of  the  soliloquist,  and  was  rather  a  back- 
ground than  an  accompaniment  to  the  recitative. 
Gradually,  as  the  story  went  on,  the  lithe  figure 
began  to  sway  in  perfect  time  to  the  phantom 
music ;  the  eyes,  smilingly  eager,  seemed  to  look 
upon  what  the  lips  described ;  the  feet  stirred 
and  twinkled  rhythmically  ;  form  and  face  were 


A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS.  243 

embodied  melody.  Vivified  by  reverie,  expectant 
and  reminiscent,  the  radiant  impersonation  of  the 
poet's  picture  floated  airily  through  the  enchant- 
ing measures.  As  a  morning  paper  put  it,  "  she 
seemed  to  respire  the  music  to  which  she  swayed 
and  chanted." 

The  audience,  "  though  blast  with  much  merry- 
making and  sight-seeing,  hung  entranced  upon 
every  motion,  until,  wafted  by  gentle  degrees 
toward  the  side-scene  opposite  to  that  by  which 
she  had  entered,  she  vanished  on  the  last  word  of 
the  poem." 

Recalled  by  a  tumult  of  applause,  she  courtesied 
in  colonial  fashion,  and  kissed  her  hand  brightly 
to  her  admirers,  but  instead  of  vouchsafing  a  repe- 
tition of  what  had  stirred  the  spectators  out  of 
their  nil  admirari  mood,  beckoned  archly  to  the 
left  and  right.  A  troop  of  young  men  and  girls 
obeyed  the  summons  and  fell  into  place  in  the 
country  dance  that  went  forward  to  the  now  ring- 
ing measures  of  Money  Musk. 

The  comedietta  to  which  this  was  the  prelude 
had  been  composed  by  a  well-known  author,  who 
was  called  out  at  the  close  of  the  second  act,  and 
led  forward  the  prima  donna  of  the  clever 
piece. 

The  interlude  showed  a  moonlighted  dell.  On 
the  distant  hilltop  was  the  gleam  of  white  tents  ; 
in  the  foreground  stood  a  woman  as  colorless  in 
robe  and  visage  as  the  moonbeams.  Her  voice, 


344  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

silvery  and  plaintive,  thrilled  through  the  crowded 
rooms : 

"  Give  us  a  song ! "  the  soldiers  cried, 

The  outer  trenches  guarding, 
When  the  heated'guns  of  the  camps  allied 

Grew  weary  of  bombarding. 

And  so,  in  distinct,  unimpassioned  narrative  up 
to— 

They  sang  of  love  and  not  of  fame, 

Forgot  was  Britain's  glory ; 
Each  heart  recalled  a  different  name. 
But  all  sang  "  Annie  Laurie." 

Again  the  invisible  orchestra  bore  up  the  uttered 
words ;  at  first  a  single  cornet  bringing  down  the 
air  from  the  tented  hilltop ;  then  deeper  notes 
joining  it,  like  men's  voices  of  varying  tone  and 
strength,  but  all  singing  "Annie  Laurie." 

"  Something  upon  the  women's  cheeks 
Washed  off  the  stains  of  powder." 

said  dissonant,  derisive  tones  at  Arthur  Cornell's 
back,  as  the  curtain  fell.  "  Battered  veterans  of 
a  dozen  seasons  are  snivelling  like  ingenues  of  no 
season  at  all.  What  fools  New  Yorkers  are  to  be 
humbugged  with  their  eyes  open !  " 

"  The  fair  manager  hath  a  way  of  whistling  the 
tin  out  of  our  pockets,"  replied  a  thin  falsetto. 
"A  wonderful  creature,  that  same  manager." 


A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS.  245 

A  disagreeable,  wheezing  laugh  finished  the 
speech. 

Arthur  made  an  ineffectual  effort  to  extricate 
himself  from  the  packing  crowd,  a  movement  un- 
noticed or  uncared-for  by  the  speakers. 

"  I  admire — and  despise — that  woman  ! "  con- 
tinued the  harsh  voice.  "As  an  exhibition  of 
colossal  cheek  she  is  unrivaled.  For  four  years 
she  has  preyed  upon  the  majority  that  is  up  to 
her  little  'dodge,'  and  the  minority  that  is  not, 
pocketing  her  half  of  the  profits  of  every  '  char- 
itable '  show ;  borrowing  from  innocents  that  don't 
know  that  she  pays  not  again,  and  actually — so  I 
am  told — receiving  a  commission  for  introducing 
wild  Westerners  and  provincial  Easterners  into 
what  she  calls  '  our  best  circles.'  And  we  go  on 
buying  her  tickets  and  accepting  her  specimens, 
like  the  arrant  asses  we  are." 

"  Madame  du  Bois,  upon  a  limited  scale." 

"  Exactly !  Madame  is  her  model.  Her  apeing 
is  more  like  monkeying,  but  the  resemblance  is 
not  lost.  New  Yorkers  rather  enjoy  the  sublime 
audacity  of  Madame's  fleecing,  and  she  does  have 
the  entrcd  of  uppertendom,  sham  though  she  is, 
with  her  drawing-room  readings,  where  geniuses 
are  trotted  out  at  big  prices  to  ticket  buyers,  and 
no  price  at  all  to  Madame,  and  ranchmen's  daugh- 
ters are  provided  with  blue-blooded  Knickerbocker 
husbands.  Her  schemes  are  on  a  large  scale. 
She  engineers  benevolent  pow-wows,  clears  her 


246  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

one  thousand  dollars  a  night,  and  nobody  dare 
charge  her  with  pocketing  a  penny.  You  can  see 
where  Kit  learned  her  trade.  To  my  certain 
knowledge  she  dresses  herself  and  pays  for 
all  her  hospitable  entertainments  by  these 
tricks." 

"  Her  latest  investment  isn't  a  bad  notion,  but 
Kit  is  working  the  scheme  for  all  it's  worth. 
Anybody  but  the  newest  of  the  new  would  see 
through  the  game." 

The  other  laughed  gratingly. 

"  New  "  is  a  mild  way  of  putting  it.  We  call 
her  '  Kit's  windfall '  at  our  Club.  Madame's 
disciple  had,  as  she  fondly  imagined,  netted  a 
couple  of  veritable  musical  lions,  and  ten  people 
were  invited  to  hear  their  after-dinner  roar. 
The  very  day  before  the  feast  the  male  lion  fell 
sick,  and  the  lioness  wouldn't  or  couldn't  leave 
her  mate.  Kitty  was  tearing  her  false  bang  over 
the  note  apprising  her  of  the  disaster  when  a 
card  was  brought  in,  telling  her  that  an  old  school- 
mate who  had  been  educated  as  a  music-teacher, 
and  had  a  niceish  talent  for  recitation,  had 
removed  to  the  city.  Kit  caught  at  the  straw ; 
raced  around  to  inspect  her,  judged  her  to  be 
more  than  eligible,  and  roped  her  in.  Delorme 
was  at  the  dinner  and  told  me  the  story,  which 
his  wife  had  from  Kit's  own  lips.  The  new 
'  find  '  had  beauty  as  well  as  a  voice  and  a  taste 
for  theatricals,  and  a  neat  income,  so  Kit  says — 


A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS.  247 

some  thirty  thousand  a  year.  Moreover,  she  is 
tremendously  grateful  for  the  lift  in  the  world, 
and  so  daft  with  enjoyment  of  her  first  glimpse 
of  le  bon  ton  that  she  would  send  Kit  ten  out  of 
the  thirty  thousand  sooner  than  lose  her  social 
standing.  She  doesn't  guess  that  she  will  be 
tossed  aside  like  a  squeezed  orange  next  year, 
poor  thing ! " 

Arthur  leaned  against  the  door-frame,  too 
giddy  and  sick  to  move,  had  action  been  practic- 
able in  such  a  press.  One  of  the  tedious  "waits" 
inseparable  from  amateur  performances  gave 
every  woman  there  a  chance  to  outscream  her 
neighbor.  It  might  be  dishonorable  not  to  make 
himself  known  to  the  gossips  who  considered 
themselves  absolved  by  the  payment  of  an 
entrance  fee  from  the  obligation  to  speak  well,  or 
not  at  all,  of  their  hosts.  He  did  not  put  the 
question  to  himself  whether  or  not  he  should  con- 
tinue to  listen.  In  a  judicial  mood  he  would 
have  weighed  the  pros  and  cons  of  fact  or  fiction 
in  the  tale  he  had  heard.  Every  word  had,  to  his 
consciousness,  the  stamp  of  authenticity.  In  the 
shock  of  the  confirmation  of  his  worst  misgivings 
with  regard  to  his  wife's  chosen  intimate,  his  rul- 
ing thought  was  of  the  anguish  the  truth  would 
cause  her.  How  best  to  lessen  the  shock  to  her 
tender,  loving  heart,  how  to  mitigate  her  morti- 
fication, began  already  to  put  his  deliberate  facul- 
ties upon  the  strain. 


248  A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS. 

The  wiry  falsetto  and  wheezy  laugh  struck  in 
from  his  very  elbow. 

"  Kit's  exemplary  spouse  may  not  share  her 
pecuniary  profits,  but  he  has  an  eye  to  innings  of 
another  sort.  I  met  him  at  the  Club  last  night, 
and  saw  that  he  had  about  six  champagnes  and 
four  cocktails  more  than  his  brain  could  balance. 
An  hour  later,  I  was  passing  the  house  of  our 
pretty  prima  donna  when  a  carriage  drew  up  and 
out  stepped  Jack  and  turned  to  help  out  his  wife's 
favorite.  And,  by  Jove !  the  way  he  did  it  was 
to  put  his  arm  about  her  waist,  swing  her  to  the 
side-walk  and  try  to  kiss  her!  She  espied  me,  I 
suppose,  for  she  broke  away  from  him  with  a  little 
screech,  and  flew  up  her  steps  like  a  lapwing. 
She  must  have  had  her  latchkey  all  ready,  for  she 
got  the  door  open  in  a  twinkling,  and  slammed  it. 
I  guffawed  outright,  and  didn't  Jack  swear ! " 

"What  a  beastly  cad  he  is!"  said  the  deep 
voice  disgustfully. 

Few  men  in  the  circumstances  would  have  kept 
so  forcibly  in  mind  the  shame  to  wife  and  chil- 
dren that  would  follow  a  blow  and  quarrel  then 
and  there,  as  the  commonplace  husband  upon 
whose  ear  and  heart  every  vile  word  had  fallen 
like  liquid  fire.  He  rent  a  path  through  the 
throng,  got  his  hat  and  coat  and  went  out  of  the 
abhorrent  place.  He  had  seen  to  it  that  Susie's 
hired  carriage  was  always  driven  by  the  same 
man — a  steady,  middle-aged  American— and  re- 


A    SOCIAL   SUCCESS.  249 

cognizing  him  upon  the  box,  signaled  him  to 
draw  up  to  the  sidewalk,  stepped  into  the  vehicle, 
and  prepared  to  wait  as  patiently  as  might  be 
until  the  man's  number  should  be  called  by  the 
attendant  policeman. 

The  "  show  "  was  not  over  for  an  hour  longer, 
and  his  carriage  was  the  last  called.  The  fair 
manager  had  detained  her  lieutenant  to  exchange 
felicitations  over  the  triumph  of  the  evening. 
Susie  appeared,  finally,  running  down  the  steps  so 
fast  that  her  attendant  only  overtook  her  at  the 
curbstone.  He  had  come  out  bareheaded,  and 
without  other  protection  against  the  bitter  March 
wind  than  his  evening  dress  and  thin  shoes.  Mrs. 
Cornell's  hand  was  on  the  handle  of  the  carriage 
door,  and  he  covered  it  with  his  own. 

"  Are  you  cruel  or  coquettish,  sweet  Annie 
Laurie?  "  he  asked  in  accents  thickened  by  liquor 
and  laughter. 

By  the  electric  light  Arthur  saw  the  pale  terror 
of  her  face,  as  she  tried  to  wrest  he,r  fingers  from 
the  ruffianly  grasp.  Without  a  second's  hesita- 
tion the  husband  leaped  out  through  the  other 
door,  passed  behind  the  carriage,  lifted  the  man, 
taller  and  heavier  than  himself,  by  the  nape  of  the 
neck,  and  laid  him  in  the  gutter. 

"  The  fellow  is  drunk ! "  he  remarked  con- 
temptuously to  the  policeman  who  hastened  up, 
imagining  that  the  gentleman  had  tripped  and 
fallen.  "  It  is  lucky  you  are  here  to  look  after  him." 


250  A    SOCIAL    SUCCESS. 

He  handed  his  trembling  wife  into  the  carriage, 
swung  himself  in  after  her,  and  bade  the  coachman 
drive  home. 

Then — for  as  I  have  expressly  affirmed,  this 
man  was  heroic  in  naught  save  his  love  for  wife 
and  children — he  put  strong  tender  arms  about 
the  sinking  woman,  who  clung  to  his  neck,  con- 
vulsed by  sobs,  as  one  snatched  from  destruction 
might  hang  upon  the  saving  hand. 

"  There,  my  darling !  It  is  all  over !  I  ought 
to  have  taken  better  care  of  you.  The  old  account 
is  closed.  We'll  begin  another  upon  a  clean 
page." 

He  was  only  a  bank  cashier,  you  see,  and  famil- 
iar with  no  figures  except  such  as  he  used  every 
day. 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPA- 
RATION. 


BEFORE  and  since  the  day  when  a  certain  man 
— idling  while  Israel  and  Syria  warred — drew  a 
bow  at  a  venture  (the  margin  has  it,  "  in  his  sim- 
plicity,") that  let  a  king's  life  out,  the  air  has 
vibrated  to  the  twang  of  other  bowstrings,  and 
millions  of  barbs,  as  idly  sent,  have  been  dyed 
with  life-blood. 

In  every  50,000  cases  of  this  sort  of  man- 
slaughter, 49,999  fall  by  the  tongue. 

The  Hon.  Simeon  Barton,  radiating  pros- 
perity from  every  pore  of  his  snug  person,  and 
clothed  with  complacency  as  with  a  garment, 
rolled  about  the  soon-to-be-vacated  bachelor  quar- 
ters of  his  nephew-namesake,  thumbs  in  armholes, 
and  chin  in  air,  while  he  discoursed : 

"  You're  a  pluckier  fellow  than  your  uncle,  me 
boy !  Of  course,  it  is  on  the  cards  that  your  head 
may  be  level.  There  are  literary  women  and 
literary  women,  no  doubt,  and  this  must  be  a 
favorable  specimen  of  the  tribe,  or  you  wouldn't 
have  been  in  your  present  fix,  but  none  of  the 


252  THE  ARTICLES   OF  SEPARATION. 

lot  in  mine,  if  you  pleasai  When  my  turn  comes 
— and  I  aint  sure  that  I  shan't  look  out  for  a 
match  some  day,  when  I  am  too  stiff  to  trot  well 
in  single  harness,  I  shall  hold  the  reins.  No  inside 
seat  for  me." 

The  nephew  laughed  in  a  hearty,  whole-souled 
way.  He  was  not  touched  yet. 

"  You  mix  your  figures  as  you  do  your  cob- 
blers— after  you  get  hold  of  the  sherry  bottle — 
with  a  swing.  Wait  until  you  see  my  '  match.' 
She  is  a  glorious  woman,  Uncle  Sim.  The  wonder 
is  that  she  ever  got  her  eyes  down  to  my  level." 

The  forty-year-old  celibate  continued  to  roll  and 
harangue.  His  dress  coat  was  new  and  a  close  fit 
to  his  rotund  dapperness;  with  one  lavender 
glove  he  smote  the  palm  of  his  gloved  left  hand ; 
the  rose  in  his  buttonhole  was  paler  than  the 
hard  red  spots  on  cheeks  like  underglazed  pottery 
for  smoothness  and  polish,  his  mustache  curled 
upward  and  wriggled  at  animated  periods. 

"  Quite  the  thing,  me  dear  boy,  altogether 
proper.  For  me  part,  I  wouldn't* care  to  be  under 
obligations  to  a  woman  when  she  had  worked 
down  to  my  level,  but  tastes  differ,  and  a  man  of 
twenty-six  who  has  a  living  to  make  ought  to  cast 
an  anchor  to  windward,  in  case  of  squalls.  A 
woman  who  can  chop  a  stick,  at  a  pinch,  to  set 
the  pot  to  boiling  is  a  convenience.  Literature's 
a  better  trade  now  than  it  used  to  be,  I  suppose. 
Jones  of  Illinois  was  telling  me  last  night  of  the 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  253 

prices  paid  to  good  Selling  authors,  and  by 
George !  I  was  surprised.  All  the  same,  I'd  fight 
shy  of  the  Guild  if  I  were  contemplating  matri- 
mony. If  you  could  see  some  of  the  many 
objects  that  hang  about  the  Capitol  in  wait  for 
Tom,  Dick,  or  Harry  to  pick  up  a  '  personal/  or 
lobby  a  bill,  or  get  subscriptions  to  a  book  or 
magazine,  you  wouldn't  wonder  at  my  '  prejudice,' 
as  you  are  pleased  to  style  it.  Pah !  " 

To  rid  his  mouth  of  the  taste  he  caught  up  a 
tumbler  of  sherry  cobbler,  filmy  without  and  icy 
amber  within,  and  drained  it. 

The  expectant  bridegroom  glanced  at  the 
clock.  His  best  man  was  to  call  for  him  at  a 
quarter-past  seven.  It  was  exactly  seven  now, 
and  the  minutes  drove  heavily. 

"  But  Uncle  Sim,  — still  good-humoredly, — 
"  Miss  Welles  is  not  a  newspaper  reporter,  nor  a 
lobbyist,  nor  yet  a  penny-a-liner.  She  wrote  to 
please  herself  and  her  friends  until  her  father's 
death,  six  years  ago.  He  was  considered  fairly 
wealthy,  but  something  went  wrong  somewhere, 
and  his  widow  would  have  suffered  for  the  want 
of  much  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  but 
for  the  talents  and  courage  of  her  young  daugh- 
ter. I  am  afraid  the  poor  girl  worked  harder  than 
her  mother  suspected  for  a  while,  although  the 
public  received  her  favorably  from  the  outset. 
Mrs.  Welles  survived  her  husband  three  years. 
Agnes  then  went  to  live  with  her  only  sister,  Mrs. 


254  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

Ryder,  the  wife  of  my  partner.  I  first  met  her  at 
his  house.  She  has  continued  to  write  and  has 
supported  herself  handsomely  in  this  way.  She 
is  as  heroic  as  she  is  sweet — a  thorough  woman." 
"  With  a  masculine  intellect !  I  comprehend, 
me  boy.  Don't  multiply  epithets  on  my  account. 
As  I've  said,  I  don't  presume  to  question  the 
wisdom  of  your  choice  in  this  particular  case,  and 
that  your  inamorata  is  the  best  of  her  kind,  but 
personally,  I  don't  take  to  the  kind.  By  Jupiter! 
I  was  telling  Jones  of  Illinois,  last  night,  of  an 
incident  that  gave  me  a  '  scunner '  against  woman 
authors,  twenty  years  ago.  Mrs.  Shenstone  of 
New  York  was  a  literary  light  in  her  day.  There's 
a  fashion  in  writers,  as  in  everything  else,  and  she 
went  out  with  balloon  skirts  and  chig-nongs. 
But  she  was  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude  in  her 
own  opinion,  and,  at  any  rate,  something  in  the 
stellar  line  in  others'  eyes.  Her  husband  had 
money  and  she  was  a  poor  girl  when  she  married 
him.  They  say  he  made  a  show  of  holding  his 
own  while  the  shekels  lasted.  A  more  meek- 
spirited  atomy  I  never  beheld  than  when  they 
called  upon  my  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lamar 
from  Charleston,  then  staying  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel,  one  evening,  when  I  chanced  to  be  sitting 
with  the  Lamars  in  their  private  parlor.  And  as 
sure  as  I  am  a  sinner  and  you're  another,  the  card 
brought  in  to  Mrs.  Lamar  was  *  Mrs.  Cordelia 
Shenstone  nud  husband?  The  last  two  words 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  255 

were  added  in  pencil.  Fact, 'pon  honor!  Mrs. 
Larqar  carried  the  card  home  and  had  it  framed 
as  a  domestic  and  literary  curiosity." 

"You  cite  an  extreme  case" — another  glance 
at  the  slow  clock.  "  If  that  woman  had  been  a 
shopkeeper,  or  a  dressmaker,  with  the  same  arbi- 
trary, selfish  spirit,  she  would  have  been  guilty  of 
the  same  gross  violation  of  taste  and  feeling." 

"  Maybe  so !  maybe  so !  But  the  writing 
woman  is  a  prickly  problem  in  modern  society. 
She  is  leading  the  van  in  all  revolutionary  rot 
about  women's  wrongs  and  women's  rights.  The 
party  can't  do  without  her,  for  the  rank  and  file 
couldn't  draft  a  resolution  or  write  a  report  to 
save  their  lives,  and  they've  flattered  up  our  blue- 
stocking until  she  steps  out  of  all  bounds.  It 
makes  a  conservative  patriot's  blood  run  cold  to 
think  what  the  upshot  of  it  all  is  to  be.  And  I 
confess  I  don't  like  to  anticipate  seeing  your  cards 
engraved  —  '  Mrs.  Clytemnestra  Ashe  and  hus- 
band."' 

A  dark  red  torrent  poured  over  the  listener's 
face.  Physically  and  morally,  he  was  thin- 
skinned. 

"  There  is  nothing  of  the  Clytemnestra  in  her 
make-up,  sir.  No  woman  ever  made  could  rule 
me,  were  she  my  wife.  Agnes  is  too  gentle  and 
too  sensible  to  attempt  it.  As  to  the  cards!" 
He  went  to  a  drawer  and  took  out  a  bit  of  paste- 
board which  he  tossed  to  his  kinsman,  with  a 


256  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION: 

derisive  laugh.     "  That  is  all   settled,   you   see. 
Come  in  !  "  to  a  knock  at  the  door. 

When  the  tardy  best  man  appeared,  the  Hon. 
Simeon  Barton,  his  head  on  one  shoulder,  and 
eyes  half  shut,  after  the  manner  of  an  impudent 
cock-sparrow,  was  scanning  the  engraved  inscrip- 
tion, 


MR.  AND  MRS.  BARTON  ASHE, 

170  West  St. 


"  Leave  the  '  Simeon  '  out,  do  you  ?  Clytem — 
Agnes  doesn't  like  it,  maybe  ? "  And  without 
waiting  for  a  reply — "  Good-evening,  Mr.  White. 
I'm  just  advising  Bart  here  to  use  up  this  batch 
of  cards  plaguey  quick,  to  make  room  for  '  Mrs. 
Ashe  and  husband' " 

Mr.  White  laughed  a  little  and  politely.  The 
jest  was  in  miserable  taste,  but  much  was  pardon- 
able in  rich  uncles  who  were  self-made  men,  when 
they  showed  a  disposition  to  help  make  their 
nephews.  A  glimmer  of  like  reasoning  may  have 
entered  Barton's  mind,  for  he  turned  an  unshad- 
owed brow  to  the  eccentric  millionaire. 

"  When  that  time  comes  I  shall  employ  you 
to  draw  up  the  articles  of  separation.  White, 
here,  is  witness  to  the  agreement." 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  257 

An  hour  later,  he  would  not  have  believed  the 
words  had  passed  his  lips.  Jest  upon  such  a 
horror  would  have  seemed  profanation  to  the 
newly  .made  husband.  As  the  woman  who  would 
never  again  answer  to  the  name  of  Agnes  Welles 
stood  beside  him,  his  were  not  the  only  eyes  that 
paid  silent  homage  to  her  strange  beauty — strange, 
because  to  the  guests,  and  to  the  assembled  rela- 
tives, this  phase  of  one  whom  most  people  had 
hitherto  thought  only  "  interesting  "  and  "  pleas- 
ing," was  new  and  unexpected.  She  was  but  a 
few  inches  shorter  than  her  manly  partner,  and 
slender  to  fragility.  Straight  and  supple  as  a 
willow-wand,  she  was  ethereal  in  grace  when  clad 
in  the  misty  robes  and  veil  which  were  the  wed- 
ding gift  of  her  godmother.  Her  dark  eyes  were 
full  of  living  light,  illumining  the  colorless  face 
into  weird  loveliness,  that  belonged  neither  to 
feature  nor  complexion.  The  short,  tense  bow  of 
the  upper  lip,  the  fine  spirited  line  of  the  nostrils, 
the  perfect  oval  of  cheek  and  chin,  were  always 
high-bred — some  said,  haughty.  To-night  they 
were  chastened  into  lofty  sweetness  that  was  pure 
womanly. 

"She  might  pass  for  twenty-two"  said  an  auda- 
ciously young  debutante  to  a  crony  just  behind 
Mr.  Barton. 

And — "  By  George  !  "  thought  that  astute  indi- 
vidual— "  the  young  dog  never  hinted  that  his 
divinity  was  six  years  his  senior.  I  should  have 


258  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

been  surer  than  ever  of  receiving  that  card. 
Pity  !  pity  !  pity !  That's  a  fault  that  won't  mend 
with  time." 

Agnes  knew  better  than  he  could  have  told  her 
what  risks  the  woman  takes  who  consents  to  marry 
her  junior  in  years.  Early  in  their  acquaintance- 
ship she  had  contrived  to  apprise  Barton  of  this 
disparity.  When  he  declared  his  love  she  set 
it  boldly  in  the  foreground  of  hesitation  and 
demur. 

"  When  you  are  thirty-five,  in  man's  proudest 
prime  and  yet  far  from  the  comb  of  the  hill,  I 
shall  have  begun  to  go  down  the  other  side,"  she 
urged.  "You  might  be  able  to  contemplate  the 
contrast  boldly,  but  could  I  forgive  myself  ? 
There  may  be  a  suspicion  of  poetry — pathetic  but 
real — in  the  idea  of  an  old  man's  darling,  but  an 
old  woman's  pet !  that  is  a  theme  no  painter  or 
poet  has  dared  to  handle.  The  suggestion  of 
grotesqueness  is  inevitable.  Both  are  to  be  pitied, 
but  I  think  the  wife  needs  compassion  even  more 
than  the  man  she  has  made  ridiculous." 

The  rising  young  lawyer  was  a  clever  advocate, 
and  he  had  never  striven  longer  and  harder  to 
win  a  cause.  When  his  triumph  was  secured 
Agnes  could  not  quite  dismiss  the  subject.  It 
haunted  her  like  a  wan  ghost,  with  threatening 
beck  and  ominous  eye.  Once,  but  a  month  before 
their  wedding  day,  they  were  speaking  of  George 
Eliot's  singular  marriage  with  a  man  young 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  259 

enough  to  be  her  son,  and  an  abrupt  change  fell 
upon  Agnes'  visage — a  shade  of  painful  doubt 
and  misgiving. 

"  Dinah  Maria  Mulock,  too  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  And  Mme.  de  Stael !  Elizabeth  Browning's 
husband  was  some  months  younger  than  she. 

Then,  there  are  Mrs. and  Mrs.  —  "  naming 

two  prominent  living  American  authors.  "  How 
very  singular  !  There  must  be  some  occult  reason 
for  what  we  cannot  set  down  as  coincidences.  It 
looks  like  fatality  —  or  "  hesitatingly — "  infatua- 
tion." 

"  Rather,"  said  Barton  in  gentle  seriousness,  for 
her  perturbation  was  too  real  for  playful  rallying — 
"  attribute  such  cases  to  the  truth  of  the  eternal 
youthfulness  of  genius.  These  men  see  in  the 
faces  and  forms  of  the  women  they  woo,  the 
beautiful  minds  that  will  never  know  age  or 
change.  Time  salutes,  instead  of  challenging 
those  high  in  favor  with  the  king." 

"  Do  you  know,"  Agnes  said,  her  slim  white 
hand  threading  the  brown  curls  of  the  head  she 
thought  more  beautiful  than  that  of  Antinous — 
"  that  you  will  never  say  a  more  graceful  thing 
than  that?  You  are  more  truly  a  poet  than  I. 
Don't  disclaim,  for  I  am  not  a  bard  at  all.  When 
I  drop  into  poetry^  la  Wegg,  it  is  not  '  in  the  light 
of  a  friend.'  When  I  am  in  the  dark  or  at  best 
in  a  half-light,  sorry  or  weary,  or  lonely  of  heart, 
my  thoughts  take  rhythmic  shape.  They  are  only 


260  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

homely  little  crickets,  creeping  out  in  the  twilight 
to  sing  by  the  fire  that  is  beginning  to  gather 
ashes.  I  am  a  born  story-teller,  but  I  deserve  no 
credit  for  that.  Something  within  me  that  is  not 
myself  tells  the  stories  so  fast  that  I  can  hardly 
write  them  down  as  they  are  made.  I  am  no 
genius,  dear.  Don't  marry  me  with  that  impres- 
sion. I  wish  for  your  sake  that  I  were.  How 
gloriously  proud  you  would  be  of  me !  " 

"  I  am  '  gloriously  proud  '  of  you  now ! "  He 
said  it  in  fervent  sincerity.  "  If  you  have  genius, 
don't  develop  it.  I  can  hardly  keep  you  in  sight 
as  it  is." 

Dimly  and  queerly,  the  feeling  that  prompted 
the  half-laughing  protest  returned  upon  him  to- 
night. The  solemn  radiance  overflooding  her 
eyes  and  clearing  into  exalted  beauty  lineaments 
critics  pronounced  irregular,  positively  awed  him 
— an  uncommon  and  not  altogether  agreeable  sen- 
sation for  a  bridegroom,  especially  one  of  his 
practical  and  somewhat  dogmatic  cast  of  mind. 
Rebel  though  romantic  lovers  may  at  what  they 
consider  derogatory  to  the  constancy  and  depth 
of  wedded  affection,  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that 
the  turn  of  the  bridal  pair  from  the  altar  symbol- 
izes a  reversal  in  their  mutual  relation.  The 
bonds  that  have  held  the  lover  in  vassalage — very 
sweet  bondage,  perhaps,  but  still  not  liberty — are 
with  the  utterance  of  the  nuptial  benediction 
transferred  to  the  woman  he  holds  by  the  hand. 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION  261 

Barton  Ashe  was  very  much  in  love,  but  he  was 
a  very  man.  His  wife  was  now  his  property. 

"  I  feel  a  wild  desire  to  put  my  arms  around 
you  to  keep  your  wings  from  unfurling,"  he  found 
occasion  to  whisper  presently.  "  I  suppose  these 
people  would  think  me  insane  if  I  were  to  yield 
to  the  impulse  and  tell  them  why  I  did  it." 

The  luminous  eyes  laughed  joyously  into  his. 
With  all  her  intellect  and  passionate  depth  of 
feeling,  she  had  seasons  of  childlike  glee  that 
became  her  rarely. 

"  As  you  would  be.  I  was  never  farther  from 
*  wanting  to  be  an  angel '  than  at  this  instant. 
The  life  that  now  is  appears  to  me  eminently 
satisfactory." 

A  fresh  bevy  of  congratulatory  guests  inter- 
rupted the  hasty  "  aside." 

"  We  find  it  hard  to  forgive  you,  Mr.  Ashe," 
twittered  an  overdressed,  overcolored,  and  over- 
mannered  spinster.  "  How  can  you  reconcile  it 
to  your  conscience  to  change  a  broad,  beneficent 
river  into  a  canal  to  serve  your  own  particular 
mill  ?  I  shall  not  congratulate  you  upon  a  private 
good  which  is  a  public  disaster." 

"  Many  others  are  thinking  the  same  thing,  but 
they  cannot  express  it  so  beautifully,"  said  a 
plaintive  matron,  one  of  the  many  whose  perfunc- 
tory sighs  at  weddings  are  the  reverse  of  com- 
plimentary to  their  bonded  partners.  "  But  we 
must  be  thankful  you  have  been  spared  so  long 


262  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

to  make  us  happy  and  do  so  much  good  in  the 
world." 

"  I  am  puzzled,"  Barton  observed,  looking  from 
one  to  the  other.  "  If  I  were  taking  her  out  of 
town,  to  Coromandel,  we  will  say,  or  even  to 
New  Jersey,  there  might  be  occasion  for  outcry." 

"  You  are  robbing  us  of  the  better  part  of  this 
woman,"  interrupted  the  hortatory  spinster  in 
a  dramatic  contralto.  "  My  protest  is  in  the 
name  of  those  to  whom  she  belonged  by  the 
right  the  benefited  have  to  the  benefactor,  before 
you  crossed  her  path,  in  an  evil  hour  for  the 
world.  It  passes  my  comprehension,  and  I  know 
much  of  the  arrogant  vanity  of  your  sex,  how  any 
one  man  can  hope  to  make  up  to  his  author  wife 
for  the  audience  she  resigns  when  she  sits  down  to 
pour  out  his  coffee  and  darn  his  socks  for  the  rest 
of  her  mortal  existence.  It  is  breaking  stones 
with  a  gold  mallet  to  make  a  mere  housekeeper 
out  of  such  material  as  this,"  lightly  touching  the 
head  crowned  by  the  bridal  veil.  "  But  my  imag- 
ination is  not  of  the  masculine  gender." 

"  Don't  strain  it  needlessly,"  smiled  Agnes, 
before  the  attacked  person  summoned  wit  for 
a  retort.  "  Soup-making  is  a  finer  art  than  writ- 
ing essays,  to  my  comprehension,  yet  I  hope  to 
learn  it." 

The  matron  put  in  her  sentence,  sandwiched 
between  sighs. 

"  You  will  find  the  two  incompatible.      Once 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  263 

married,  a  woman's  life  is  merged  in  that  of  an- 
other. She  has  no  volition,  no  thought,  no  name 
of  her  own." 

"  The  married  woman  does  not  possess  her- 
self !  "  cried  the  spinster  in  shrill  volubility. 
"  She  effaces  her  individuality  in  uttering  the 
promise  to  '  serve  and  obey ' — vile  words  that 
belong  rather  to  the  harem  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury than  to  the  home  of  the  nineteenth.  Some- 
body else  has  reported  me  in  yesterday's  World 
and  Herald,  so  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  I 
brought  forward  a  motion  in  Sorosis  last  Mon- 
day, that  the  club  should  wear  crape  upon  the  left 
arm  for  thirty  days,  dating  from  this  evening,  in 
affectionate  memory  of  one  of  our  youngest  and 
most  brilliant  members.  Talk  of  the  self-immola- 
tion of  the  Jesuit  who  changes  the  name  his 
mother  gave  him  and  resigns  the  right  of  private 
judgment  and  personal  desire  in  joining  the 
Order  !  He  is  riotously  free  by  comparison  with 
the  model  wife.  Her  assumption  of  the  con- 
ventual veil  is  mournfully  symbolical." 

Another  wave  of  newcomers  swept  her  onward, 
still  hortatory  and  gesticulatory. 

She  was  never  spoken  of  again  by  the  bridal 
pair  until  the  marriage  day  was  a  fortnight  old. 

They  were  pacing  the  wooden  esplanade  in 
front  of  the  Hygeia  Hotel  at  Old  Point  Comfort, 
basking  in  the  December  sunshine.  The  sea  air 
had  set  roses  in  Agnes'  cheeks ;  her  lips  were  full 


264  THE   ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

and  red,  her  eye  sparkled  with  soft  content,  and 
her  step  was  elastic.  Barton,  surveying  these 
changes  with  the  undisguised  satisfaction  of  a 
man  who  has  secured  legally  the  right  to  exhibit 
his  prize,  took  his  cigar  from  his  mouth  to  say 
carelessly : 

"  By  the  way,  I  have  never  asked  the  name  of 
the  painted-and-powdered  party  who  gave  a  parlor 
lecture  upon  Jesuits  and  harems  the  night  we 
were  married." 

"  It  was  Miss  Marvel,"  said  Agnes,  laughing. 
"  She  is  an  eccentric  woman,  and  as  I  need  not 
tell  you,  indiscreet  and  flippant  in  talk,  letting  her 
theories  and  spirits  run  away  with  her  judgment. 
But  she  accomplishes  a  great  deal  of  good  in 
her  way  and  has  many  fine  traits  of  character.  It 
is  a  pity  she  does  herself  such  injustice." 

"  Humph  !  Does  she  belong  to  the  sisterhood 
of  letters  ?  " 

"  In  a  way — yes.  Her  articles  upon  the  Work- 
ing Girls  of  New  York,  written  for  newspaper 
publication  two  years  ago,  attracted  so  much  atten- 
tion that  they  were  collected  into  a  volume  last 
summer." 

"  She  is  a  member  of  Sorosis— I  gather  from 
her  tirade?" 

"  Oh,  yes.     One  of  the  oldest  members." 

"  What  a  hotch-potch  that  society  or  club — or 
whatever  you  may  choose  to  call  it — must  be ! 
Do  you  know,  darling,  I  never  associate  you — or 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  265 

any  other  true,  refined  woman  with  the  crew  to 
which  you  nominally  belong?  You  are  a  lily 
among  thorns  in  such  a  connection.  I  should 
rather  say  among  thistles  and  burdocks  and 
stramonium  and  the  like  rank,  vile-smelling 
weeds." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  pretty  praise  of  myself," 
smiling  sweetly  and  fondly  at  him.  "  But  I  can- 
not accept  it  at  the  expense  of  fairer  flowers  than 
I  can  ever  hope  to  be,  true,  strong  women  who 
are  trying  to  help  their  sex  to  a  higher  plane  and 
prepare  them  for  better  work  than  they  have 
yet  accomplished,  in  spite  of  the  limitations  of 
sex — " 

He  caught  her  up  on  the  word. 

"  Don't  fall  into  their  cant,  for  Heaven's  sake  ! 
The  'limitations  of  sex'  are  woman's  crown  of 
glory.  I  have  done  some  sober  thinking  lately — 
especially  since  the  drubbing  received  from  your 
Miss  Marvel — with  regard  to  the  mooted  subject 
of  the  emancipation  of  women,  falsely  so  called. 
My  conclusions  may  not  coincide  with  your  views 
upon  the  subject.  But,  perhaps  you  do  not  care 
to  discuss  it?  " 

Her  face  was  sunny  ;  her  look  at  once  fearless 
and  confiding. 

"  We  are  both  reasonable  people,  I  hope.  If 
we  are  not,  we  love  each  other  too  well  not  to 
agree  amicably  upon  unavoidable  disagreements." 

Barton  tossed  his  cigar  stump  into  the  foam  of 


266  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

the  nearest  wave  ;  a  touch  of  impatience  went 
with  fling  and  laugh. 

''Isn't  that  like  a  woman?  She  presupposes 
disagreement  and  forestalls  argument  by  pledging 
herself  to  forgive  for  love's  sake  whatever  she 
will  not  admit.  The  wisest  and  best  of  the  sex — 
and  you  are  both  of  these — will  press  feeling  into 
what  should  be  impersonal  debate.  Perhaps  it  is 
safer  to  talk  of  other  things.  See  that  gull  swoop 
down  and  come  up  empty-clawed.  That  is  his 
fourth  unsuccessful  trip  to  market  within  thirty 
minutes.  The  passe'e  belle  upon  the  pavilion  over 
there  has  had  that  rich  youngling  in  tow  twice  as 
long.  I  will  wager  a  pair  of  gloves  against  a 
buttonhole  bouquet  with  you  that  she  doesn't 
land  him." 

Neither  tone  nor  manner  was  pleasant.  Agnes 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  Won't  you  go  on  with  what  you  were  about 
to  say?  I  may  not  be  able  to  argue.  I  think, 
with  you,  that  logic  is  not  woman's  forte.  Per- 
haps we  may  learn,  with  time  and  education,  to 
divorce  thought  and  feeling.  But  I  am  a  capital 
listener,  and  a  willing  learner." 

"You  are  an  angel" — pressing  the  hand  to  his 
side,  "  and  so  far  above  Miss  Marvel  and  her 
compeers  in  intellect  and  breeding  that  I  fret  at 
the  alleged  partnership.  This  talk  of  woman's 
serfdom  and  the  need  of  elevating  her,  mentally 
and  politically,  is  stuff  from  first  to  last.  Vile  and 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION,  267 

pestilential  stuff !  Heresy  agarnst  the  teachings 
of  Nature  and  of  Him  who  ordained  that  man 
should  be  the  superior  being  of  the  two.  Those 
who  are  pressing  forward  in  what  they  call  Reform 
of  Existing  Wrongs  are  your  worst  enemies. 
You  should  need  no  champion  but  your  other 
self,  Man.  In  arraying  one  sex  against  the  other, 
you  antagonize  him.  I  see  this  rampant  attitude 
of  woman  everywhere  and  hourly.  If  a  man 
resigns  his  seat  in  a  public  conveyance  to  a 
woman,  she  takes  it  arrogantly — not  gratefully. 
She  pushes  him  aside  with  sharp  elbows  in  crowds, 
jostles  him  upon  gangways,  presses  before  him 
into  doors,  always  with  a  '  good-as-you '  air 
which  exasperates  the  most  amiable  of  us.  Her 
voice  is  heard  in  debating  societies;  she  sits 
beside  man  upon  the  rostrum;  competes  with 
him  in  business,  often  successfully,  because  she 
can  live  upon  less  than  he.  The  devilish  spirit 
of  revolt  permeates  all  grades  of  society.  The 
home — God's  best  gift  to  earth — has  no  longer  a 
recognized  governor,  no  judge  to  whom  appeal  is 
final.  Sisters  wrangle  with  brothers  for  equal 
educational  advantages,  instead  of  making  home 
so  pleasant  that  boys  will  be  content  to  stay 
there.  Women's  Clubs,  Women's  Congresses, 
Women's  Protective  Unions,  are  part  and  parcel 
of  the  disunion  policy.  Instead  of  refining  man 
this  is  surely,  if  slowly,  arousing  the  latent  savage 
in  him.  When  that  does  spring  to  action,  let  the 


268  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

weaker  sex  beware.  Outraged  natural  laws  will 
right  themselves  in  the  long  run,  but  sometimes 
at  fearful  cost." 

Agnes  was  perfectly  silent  during  this  harangue, 
ignorant  as  was  he  of  his  resemblance  to  pudgy 
and  pompous  Uncle  Simeon,  while  he  beat  the 
palm  of  the  right  hand  with  the  empty  left-hand 
glove,  and  rolled  slightly  from  one  leg  to  the 
other  in  the  slow  promenade.  The  bloom  grad- 
ually receded  from  her  cheeks,  her  profile  was 
still  and  clear  as  a  cameo.  Her  eyes  were  directed 
toward  the  gray-blues  of  the  meeting  line  of  wave 
and  sky.  Once  she  glanced  up  to  follow  the  gull, 
rising  from  a  fifth  unsuccessful  dip. 

Presently  she  halted  and  leaned  upon  the  para- 
pet to  watch  the  half-consumed  cigar,  swinging 
and  bumping  like  a  truncated  canoe  in  the  foam- 
fringes  of  the  rising  tide.  Barton  stopped  with 
her  without  staying  his  talk.  An  impulse  born  of 
the  innate  savagery  he  imputed  to  his  sex,  bore 
him  on.  His  wife's  very  impassiveness  irked  him, 
Silence  was  non-sympathetic ;  white  silence,  like 
hers,  chilling.  Irritation,  engendered  by  piqued 
vanity,  does  not  withhold  the  home-thrust  because 
the  victim  is  dearly  beloved. 

"You  do  not  like  to  hear  me  talk  in  this  strain," 
he  pursued.  "  It  is  only  natural  that  a  woman  of 
independent  thought  and  action,  accustomed  to 
adulation,  and  to  whom  the  excitement  of  a  public 
hearing  for  whatever  she  has  to  say  has  become  a 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  269 

necessity  of  existence ;  who  has  looked  beyond 
the  quiet  round  of  home  interests  and  home 
loves  for  a  career ;  who  has  fed  her  imagination 
upon  unreal  scenes  and  situations — should " 

He  could  get  no  further.  Fluent  as  he  was  in 
speech,  he  had  wound  himself  up  in  nominative 
specifications,  and  the  verb  climax  failed  him  un- 
expectedly. 

"  Should — what?"  said  Agnes,  turning  the  set, 
tintless  visage  toward  him.  Her  eyes,  blank  and 
questionless,  showed  how  far  from  her  thought 
was  sarcastic  pleasure  in  his  discomfiture.  Barton 
was  too  much  incensed  to  reason. 

"  Should — and  does  sneer  at  her  husband's 
serious  talk  upon  a  matter  in  which,  as  he  is  fast 
discovering,  his  happiness  is  fatally  involved  ! " 

"Fatally!  O  Barton!" 

Independent  and  strong-minded  she  might  be 
to  others,  but  he  had  hurt  her  terribly.  The 
stifled  cry  took  all  her  strength  with  it.  She 
caught  at  the  railing  for  support,  and  leaned  upon 
it,  sick  and  trembling. 

He  lifted  his  hat  in  mock  courtesy. 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me  I  will  continue  my  walk 
alone.  It  is  useless  to  attempt  the  temperate 
discussion  of  any  subject  when  my  words  are 
caught  up  in  that  tone  and  manner.  May  I  take 
you  back  to  the  hotel  ?" 

Agnes  straightened  herself  up.  Her  color  did 
not  return,  but  her  voice  was  her  own.  It  had 


270  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

always  a  peculiar  and  vibrant  melody,  and  her 
articulation  was  singularly  distinct  for  an  American 
speaking  her  own  language. 

"  You  misunderstand  me.  I  did  not  mean  to 
be  abrupt,  much  less  rude.  If  I  seemed  to  be 
either  or  both  I  ask  your  forgiveness.  You  need 
not  trouble  yourself  to  escort  me  to  the  hotel.  I 
will  sit  here  for  a  while  and  then  go  in.  I  hope, 
when  you  think  the  matter  over  dispassionately, 
you  will  see  that  I  could  not  be  guilty  of  what 
you  imply." 

He  strode  off  toward  the  Fort,  the  deep  sand 
somewhat  derogatory  to  dignity  of  carriage,  but 
favoring  the  increase  of  irritability.  Agnes  strolled 
slowly  along  the  beach  until  she  found  a  lonely 
rock  upon  the  tip  of  a  tongue  of  bleached  sand, 
where  she  could  sit  and  think  out  the  bitterest 
hour  she  had  ever  known.  People,  passing  upon 
pier  and  esplanade,  saw  her  there  all  the  fore- 
noon, a  slight  figure  whose  gray  gown  matched 
in  color  the  stones  among  which  she  sat,  as 
motionless  as  they.  The  brackish  tide  rose  slowly 
until  the  spray  sprinkled  her  feet,  whispering 
mournful  things  to  rock  and  sand.  She  saw  and 
heard  nothing,  while  her  eyes  seemed  to  follow 
the  stately  sail  and  swoop  of  the  gulls  whose 
breasts  showed  whitely  against  the  blue  of  the 
December  sky. 

Other  wives  than  Lorraine  Loree  have  wedded 
men  of  high  degree  only  to  find  that  "  husbands 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  271 

can  be  cruel,"  and  more  than  Lorraine  or  Agnes 
dreamed  of  have  made  the  discovery  before  the 
wane  of  the  honeymoon. 

This  bride  felt  bruised  and  beaten  all  over,  and 
suffered  the  more,  not  less,  for  her  sorrowful 
bewilderment  as  to  the  exact  cause  of  this,  the 
first  quarrel. 


CHAPTER  II. 

SOME  women  and  many  men  are  compounded 
and  shaped  into  sentient  beings  without  the  infu- 
sion of  so  much  as  a  pennyweight  of  tact. 

Many  women  and  a  few  men  combine  with  this 
deficiency — which  is,  in  itself,  a  deformity — a  fatal 
facility  for  saying  exactly  the  wrong  thing  when 
the  wrong  thing  will  do  most  harm. 

Miss  Marvel  had  taken  all  the  honors  in  this 
line  which  native  bias  and  feminine  fussiness  could 
win,  and  she  wove  a  new  spray  into  her  laurel 
wreath  one  day  in  the  March  succeeding  the 
winter  in  which  Barton  Ashe  and  Agnes  Welles 
were  made  one — in  law  and  gospel. 

The  morrow  would  be  his  wife's  birthday,  and 
Barton  had  in  his  breast  pocket  a  tiny  box  con- 
taining a  sapphire  ring  for  her,  when  he  arose  to 
resign  his  seat  in  the  street  car  to  the  dashing 
spinster,  whom  he  recognized  as  soon  as  she  en- 
tered. He  had  never  seen  her  since  his  wedding 
eve,  but  she  was  not  a  woman  to  be  forgotten  or 
overlooked.  She  was  in  great  force  to-day,  gor- 
geously appareled  and  flushed  beyond  high-rouge 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  273 

mark  by  three  hours  at  a  literary  breakfast,  given 
at  Delmonico's  to  a  distinguished  foreigner. 

"  I  am  surcharged  with  electric  thought,"  she 
confided  to  Mr.  Ashe  when  she  hacrtaken  the 
vacarted  place  with  a  cavalier  nod  that  might  mean 
"  Thanks,"  or  "  That's  only  decent,  my  good 
man." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Barton,  in  naive  wonderment,  for 
the  want  of  anything  else  to  say. 

"  Surcharged  !  bristling  !  I  could  fancy  that  at 
the  approach  of  the  negative  pole  I  should  crackle 
and  emit  sparkles  like  a  brisk  battery.  Such  a 
feast  of  intellect !  such  flow  of  soul !  such  scintil- 
lating wit !  Three  hours  of  such  intercourse  were 
worth  ten — a  thousand  cycles  of  Cathay.  Our 
guest  was  superb  !  such  dignity  and  such  gracious- 
ness  of  affability  as  can  only  coexist  in  an  Old 
World  product." 

She  spoke  loudly,  after  the  manner  of  the  New 
World  product  (gemis  homo,  feminine  gender). 
Several  solid  men  peered  at  her  around  or  over  the 
evening  papers.  Two  giddy  girls,  who  had  taken 
without  thanks  or  scruples  seats  from  weary  men, 
smiled  undisguisedly.  Barton,  standing  in  the 
aisle,  holding  on  by  the  strap,  his  knees  abraded 
by  the  jet  passementerie  of  Miss  Marvel's  velvet 
skirt,  could  not  budge  an  inch.  He  must  hear 
and,  hearing,  essay  reply  of  some  sort.  "  Ah  ! " 
albeit  the  safest  and  most  commodious  mono- 
syllable in  the  language,  cannot  go  on  forever. 


274  THE   ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

"  The  lunch  was  largely  attended,  I  suppose  ?  " 
he  ventured  in  tones  studiously  lowered. 

"  By  every  woman  in  New  York  who  is  worth 
the  notice  of  an  intelligent  being.  With  one  dis- 
tinguished exception.  Mrs.  Ashe's  absence*  was 
the  occasion  of  universal  regret.  As  a  well-wisher 
let  me  warn  you  that  you  may  be  mobbed  some 
day  for  your  unconscionable  cruelty  to  the  highest 
order  of  created  things;  for  imprisoning  the  eagle 
and  stilling  the  song  of  the  lark.  At  least  fifty 
people  asked  me  to-day  why  Agnes  Welles  had 
disappeared  from  the  literary  firmament.  For  one 
and  all,  I  had  one  and  the  same  reply.  '  She  has 
taken  the  bridal  veil,'  I  said,  tears  in  eyes  and 
voice.  *  In  consequence  of  that  piece  of  barbarity, 
and  for  no  other  cause,  the  places  that  once  knew 
her  know  her  no  more.'  One  woman — I  won't 
divulge  her  name,  lest  you  should  hate  her — 
said  she  "  should  as  soon  think  of  chaining  a 
thrush  to  the  leg  of  a  kitchen  chair  as  of 
obliging  that  glorious  young  thing  to  resign 
her  Heaven-appointed  mission  for  the  position 
of  caterer,  housekeeper,  and  seamstress.'  I 
shall  work  that  bon  mot  into  my  next  literary  let- 
ter to  the  Boston  Globe.  Another  delightfully 
satirical  creature  advised  me  to  take  up  the  cause 
of  '  Great  Women  Married  to  Small  Men,'  in  my 
next  series  of  papers  upon  '  Unconsidered  Wrongs 
of  Our  Sex.'  You  see  the  reputation  you  are 
earning  for  yourself  with  the  powers  that  be  !  " 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  275 

Barton  Ashe  was  a  sensible  man,  well  educated 
and  well  bred.  Under  favoring  circumstances,  as 
when  inspired  by  the  society  of  his  wife  and  her 
loving  appreciation,  he  was  quick  with  repartee 
and  apt  at  fence  even  with  a  wordy  woman. 
Under  the  present  onslaught  he  was  furious  and 
dumb.  Had  a  man  insulted  him,  and  less  grossly, 
he  would  have  knocked  him  down  or  given  him  his 
card  and  demanded  a  meeting  elsewhere.  This  be- 
rouged  and  bedizened  old  maid  compromised  him 
in  the  eyes  of  solid  men  and  giddy  girls  by  enter- 
ing into  conversation  with  him  at  all.  Each  shrill 
word  was  a  prickle  in  a  pore  of  his  mental  cuticle. 
She  advertised  his  wife  as  one  of  her  kind, 
arraigned  him  as  despot  and  churl,  menaced  him 
with  public  exposure,  and  posed  as  Agnes' 
champion  against  the  oppressor  on  whose  side 
was  the  power  of  law  and  tradition — made  him 
ridiculous  to  all  within  the  sound  of  her  brazen 
tongue — and  he  was  powerless. 

He  did  the  only  thing  possible  to  a  man  calling 
himself  a  gentleman,  when  baited  to  desperation 
in  a  public  place  by  a  woman  who  passes  for  a 
lady — he  lifted  his  hat  silently  and  pulled  the 
strap  to  stop  the  car.  Other  passengers  than  Miss 
Marvel  marked  the  dark  face  and  blazing  eyes, 
and  curious  regards  wandered  back  to  the  offender, 
smiling  to  herself  at  this  new  proof  of  her  ability 
to,  in  her  favorite  phrase,  "  drive  a  poisoned  needle 
under  a  man's  fifth  rib." 


276  THE   ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

"  Great  Women  Married  To  Small  Men  !  " 
The  most  offensive  count  in  the  unanswered 
indictment  seemed  to  be  flung  after  him  by  the 
shrieking  March  wind.  Until  this  moment  of 
intensest  exasperation  he  had  never  consciously 
compared  himself  mentally  with  his  wife.  That 
spiritually  she  was  purer  and  better  he  was  ever 
ready  to  admit.  The  gallant  alacrity  with  which 
men  yield  the  palm  of  virtue  and  piety  to  women 
may  be  due  to  the  candor  of  real  greatness,  but  a 
keen  student  of  human  contrarieties  is  excusable 
for  likening  it,  sometimes,  to  the  ostentatious 
generosity  of  the  child  who  surrenders  to  a  play- 
fellow the  wholesome  "  cookey,"  while  he  holds 
fast  to  the  plum  cake  for  his  own  delectation. 

"  Great  "  and  "  Small  "  were  explicit  terms  that 
threw  our  hero  upon  the  hostile-defensive. 
Agnes  was  a  pearl  among  women,  as  good,  true, 
and  sweet  as  any  man  need  covet  for  a  lifelong 
companion.  She  kept  his  house  well  and  his 
home  bright,  her  sympathies  were  ready,  her 
love  was  poured  out  upon  him  in  unstinted  meas- 
ure, she  studied  his  tastes,  humored  his  few 
foibles,  in  brief,  filled  his  life,  or  so  much  of  it  as 
she  could  reach,  most  satisfactorily.  Her  mind 
was  fairly  stocked  with  miscellaneous  information  ; 
she  had  remarkable  facility  in  composition  and 
graceful  fancies,  and,  above  all,  the  happy  knack 
of  saying,  in  a  telling  way,  things  people  cared  to 
hear.  Being  in  "  the  literary  ring,"  she  had 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  277 

secured  a  respectable  audience,  and,  being  a  tact- 
ful woman,  she  had  kept  it. 

"  Great,"  she  was  not,  in  any  sense  of  the  word, 
except  according  to  the  perverted  standard  of  the 
"  Club  "  gang,  the  mutual-admiration  circle,  with 
whom  every  poetaster  was  a  Browning,  and  the 
writer  of  turgid  essays  a  Carlyle  or  Emerson. 

He  gave  a  scornful  snort  in  repeating  the 
adjective.  Agnes  would  be  the  first  to  deprecate 
the  application  of  it  to  herself.  Yet — if  she  had 
not  invited  the  commendation  of  the  Prtcieuscs 
ridicules — had  her  name  never  been  bandied  from 
mouth  to  mouth  in  public,  the  antithetical 
"  small "  had  never  been  fitted  to  him.  Husband 
and  wife  were  in  false  positions.  That  was  clear — 
and  galling.  Almost  as  clear,  and  harder  to 
endure,  was  his  conviction  that  the  situation  could 
not  be  altered  for  the  better. 

He  had  not  made  up  his  mind  to  graceful 
acceptance  of  the  inevitable  when  he  fitted  the 
latchkey  in  the  door  of  his  own  house. 

The  popular  impression  as  to  the  housewifery 
of  pen-wrights  had  no  confirmation  within  the 
modest  domicile  of  which  Agnes  Ashe  was  the 
presiding  genius.  During  her  mother's  pro- 
tracted invalidism  and  her  own  betrothal  she  had 
studied  domestic  economy,  including  cookery,  with 
the  just  regard  to  system  and  thoroughness  that 
made  her  successful  in  her  other  profession  of 
authorship.  Her  computations  were  correct  and 


2 ?8  THE  ARTICLES   OF   SEPARATION. 

her  methods  dainty.  She  deserved  the  more 
honor  for  all  this  because  she  was  not  naturally 
fond  of  household  occupations.  If  she  reduced 
dusting  to  a  fine  art,  mixing  and  baking  to  an 
exact  science,  it  was  conscientiously,  not  with 
love  for  the  duties  themselves. 

Once,  when  praised  for  excellent  housekeeping 
by  a  friend  in  her  husband's  hearing,  her  native 
sincerity  made  her  say  : 

"  You  are  mistaken  in  supposing  that  the 
drudgery  connected  with  home-making  is  easy 
or  pleasant  to  me.  If  I  did  not  feel  it  my  duty  to 
go  into  the  kitchen  sometimes,  and  to  arrange 
rooms,  I  doubt  if  I  should  ever  do  either.  Nor 
am  I  fond  of  sewing." 

"  Yet  your  needle-work  is  exquisitely  neat," 
said  the  surprised  visitor. 

"Because  I  hold  myself  to  the  necessity  of 
doing  well  what  I  undertake.  It  is  all  business, 
not  delight." 

After  the  visitor  had  gone,  Barton  gave  a  gentle 
and  needful  caution. 

"  Don't  talk  in  that  way  to  acquaintances, 
dear,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  want  people  to  report 
that  your  tastes  are  unfeminine." 

"  Surely  there  are  other  feminine  tastes  besides 
love  for  needle,  broom,  and  egg-beater?"  Agnes 
protested,  no  less  gently.  "  Why  should  every 
woman  be  proficient  in  baking,  when  every  man 
is  not  compelled  to  learn  book-keeping?  I  am 


THE  ARTICLES   OF  SEPARATION.  279 

faithful  in  the  discharge  of  domestic  duties  because 
I  love  you  and  consider  your  happiness  rather 
than  selfish  ease.  I  love  my  home,  and  to  enjoy 
the  effect  of  clean,  orderly  rooms  and  well- 
served  meals,  I  am  willing  to  perform  tasks  for 
which  I  have  no  real  liking.  The  game  is  well 
worth  the  candle — a  good  many  waxlights,  in 
fact — but  I  question  if  you,  for  example,  really 
like  to  draw  up  conveyances  and  make  searches." 

"  Illustration  is  not  argument,"  said  Barton 
dryly.  "  You  are  undeniably  a  clever  woman,  my 
love,  but  your  reasoning  would  hardly  convince  a 
jury.  Women's  efforts  in  that  direction  are  what 
we  style  '  special  pleading.'  " 

This  talk  was  held  two  months  ago.  Agnes 
knew  better,  by  now,  than  to  attempt  argument 
with  him,  and  his  love  grew  apace  because  of  the 
forbearance  he  mistook  for  conviction  of  his 
ability  to  direct  thought  with  action.  She  was 
the  dearer  for  being  dutiful.  The  docility  with 
which  she  listened  to  his  dicta,  never  betraying  a 
suspicion  that  they  were  dogmas,  won  him  to 
forgetfulness  of  the  circumstance  that  she  was 
his  senior  by  six  years  and  a  blue-stocking. 

She  was  in  the  front  hall  when  he  got  home 
to-night,  receiving  the  adieu  of  a  spectacled  per- 
sonage whom  she  introduced  as  "  Mr.  Rowland 
of  Boston." 

"  Charmed,  I  am  sure,"  said  the  stranger  airily. 
"  The  more  that  I  am  positive  of  enlisting  Mr. 


280  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

Ashe's  powerful  interest  upon  my  side,  and  that 
of  the  book-loving  public.  If  Mrs.  Ashe  will  par- 
don  the  additional  trespass  upon  her  time,  I 
should  like  to  explain  to  you,  my  dear  sir,  the 
nature  of  my  petition  to  her,  and  now  to  yourself." 

They  returned  to  the  parlor,  and  he  had  his 
say.  It  was  succinct  and  comprehensive.  He 
wished  to  engage  Mrs.  Ashe  to  write  one  of  a 
projected  series  of  popular  novels.  Her  coad- 
jutors would  be  authors  of  repute ;  the  pro- 
gramme was  attractive  and  must  take  immensely 
with  the  best  class  of  readers.  His  terms  were 
liberal. 

In  any  other  mood  than  that  for  which  Miss 
Marvel  was  chiefly  responsible,  even  a  prejudiced 
man  must  have  been  gratified  by  the  compliment 
to  his  wife  implied  in  the  application.  It  acted 
upon  the  chafed  surface  of  husbandly  vanity  and 
dignity  like  moral  aqua  fortis.  Barton  listened 
with  lowering  brow  and  compressed  lips  while  the 
fashionable  publisher  subjoined  appeal  to  state- 
ment. When  both  were  concluded  the  master  of 
the  house  waited  with  palpable  patience,  appar- 
ently to  make  sure  that  all  the  pleas  were  in,  then 
arose  with  the  air  of  the  long-bored  householder 
who  dismisses  a  book  agent. 

"  Mrs.  Ashe  is  so  well  acquainted  with  my  views 
upon  the  subject  of  her  undertaking  any  literary 
work  whatsoever,  that  I  may  be  allowed  the 
expression  of  my  surprise  at  her  reference  of  this 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  281 

matter  to  me.  I  believe,  however,  that  the 
feminine  litterateur  considers  a  show  of  deference 
to  her  husband  a  graceful  form.  Your  appeal  to 
me  is,  you  see,  the  idlest  of  courtesies.  Now,  as 
I  have  just  come  home  after  a  wearisome  day  of 
business,  may  I  ask  you  to  excuse  me  from  further 
and  fruitless  consideration  of  this  subject  ?  " 

He  bowed  and  went  off  to  his  dressing  room. 

The  man  of  the  world,  left  thus  awkwardly  en 
t$te-a-tete  with  an  insulted  wife,  always  remem- 
bered with  grateful  admiration  the  perfect  breed- 
ing that  helped  him  out  of  the  dilemma. 

"  Mr.  Ashe  is  very  tired  and  far  from  well," 
Agnes  remarked,  eye  and  smile  cool  and  unembar- 
rassed. "  As  one  conversant  with  the  fatigues 
and  harassments  of  business  life,  you  need  no 
apology  beyond  this  for  his  seeming  brusque- 
ness.  I  dare  say — "  with  archness  that  was  well 
achieved — "  that  Mrs.  Rowland  would  compre- 
hend, better  than  you,  what  serpentlike  wisdom 
we  wives  must  exercise  in  broaching  any  subject 
that  requires  thought  to  our  hungry  lords.  I  will 
appeal  from  Philip  famished  to  Philip  full,  in  due 
season,  but  I  think  you  would  better  not  depend 
upon  me.  I  am  a  very  busy  woman  just  now, 
and  shall  be  for  some  time  to  come." 

"  It  would  give  me  solid  satisfaction  to  punch 
that  fellow's  head,"  muttered  the  publisher  in  the 
street.  ^  He  is  a  boor  and  a  tyrant,  and  his  wife 
is  an  angel." 


282  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

He  was  wrong  in  both  specifications.  Barton 
Ashe  was  a  vain  man,  and  his  vanity  was  smart- 
ing from  a  recent  attack.  His  ideas  of  the 
supremacy,  intellectual  and  official,  that  do  hedge 
a  husband  were  overstrained,  but  natural. 

Agnes  Ashe  was  a  very  mortal  woman,  walk- 
ing up  and  down  her  pretty  room  after  the  de- 
parture of  her  visitor,  hands  clenched  until  the 
nails  wounded  the  flesh,  and  cheeks  so  hot  they 
dried  the  tears  before  they  fell.  Her  breath  came 
fast  between  the  shut  teeth.  Women  will  com- 
prehend how  much  easier  it  was  to  forgive  her 
husband  for  the  slur  cast  upon  her  than  for  lower- 
ing himself  in  the  eyes  of  a  stranger. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  myself  !  "  she  whispered  pant- 
ingly.  "I  am  afraid  of  myself !  Must  I,  then, 
despise  him  utterly  ?  What  right  has  he  to  charge 
upon  me  as  shame  what  others  account  as  honor? 
Can  it  be  that  he  is  conscious  of  being  small  and 
fears  to  let  me  grow  ?  " 

By  different  roads,  the  refined  woman,  who 
loved  her  art  for  its  own  sake  and  reverenced  it 
for  the  good  it  might  do,  and  the  pretender, 
tolerated  by  true  artists  out  of  charity,  and  out  of 
respect  for  the  active  benevolence  that  redeemed 
her  from  the  rank  of  a  public  nuisance— had 
arrived  at  a  like  conclusion. 

Barton,  after  his  bath  and  toilet,  sat  down  to 
dinner,  and  scarcely  spoke  until  excejjent  clear 
soup  and  the  delicious  creamed  lobster  prepared 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  283 

by  Agnes'  own  hands,  had  paved  the  way  for  more 
substantial  viands.  Then  his  righteous  wrath  was 
partially  cooled  by  perception  of  the  truth  that 
the  still,  pale  woman  opposite  meant  to  enter  no 
defense  against  the  aspersions  cast  upon  her  in 
another's  hearing.  Nay,  more,  she  made  no 
attempt  to  cheat  him  into  a  milder  mood, 
broached  no  prudent  topics,  attempted  no  diver- 
sion. Second  thought  found  fresh  fuel  for  dis- 
pleasure in  her  reticence.  The  double  offense  of 
Miss  Marvel's  tirade  and  the  airy  publisher's 
errand  were  not  condonable  by  discreet  silence. 

He  slashed  simultaneously  into  a  roast  of  beef 
and  the  grievance  upon  his  mind. 

"  I  met  your  particular  crony,  Miss  Marvel,  in 
the  car  on  my  way  uptown.  She  was,  if  possible, 
more  detestably  impertinent  than  usual." 

Agnes  beckoned  to  the  waitress  and  gave  her 
in  a  low  tone  an  errand  to  the  kitchen.  Glancing 
up  at  her  husband,  she  saw  that  he  had  laid  down 
the  carver  and  was  gazing  sternly  at  herself. 

"  May  I,  as  the  least  important  member  of  this 
household,  inquire  why  you  sent  that  girl  out  of 
the  room  ?  I  may  be,  as  your  dear  friends  assert, 
a  small  man  married  to  a  great  woman,  but  I  am 
credited  by  others  with  a  modicum  of  common 
sense  and  discretion.  I  am  willing  to  abide  by 
the  consequences  of  whatever  I  say  at  my  own 
table  and  in  the  presence  of  my  servants,  if  I 
have  any  proprietorship  in  either." 


284  THE  ARTICLES   OF  SEPARATION. 

Red  heat  he  had  never  seen  before  in  Agnes' 
face  suffused  it  now,  her  eyes  dilated  and 
gleamed. 

"  I  sent  the  girl  from  the  room  because  she 
was  recommended  to  me  by  the  matron  of  an 
orphan  asylum  in  which  she  was  brought  up. 
Miss  Marvel  is  a  manager  of  the  institution  and 
had  the  girl  trained  in  a  school  for  domestics. 
Mary  is  much  attached  to  her.  I  thought  it 
hardly  safe  or  kind  to  discuss  her  in  Mary's 
presence." 

Barton  met  generous  heat  with  deadly  coldness. 

"  When  is  your  waitress'  month  up  ?  " 

"  On  the  fifteenth." 

"  This  is  the  seventh.  Pay  her  a  week's  wages 
to-morrow  and  pack  her  off.  I  will  have  none  of 
that  woman's  spies  in  my  house — that  is,  always 
supposing  it  to  be  mine.  I  understand  this  after- 
noon's scene.  She  is  kept  posted  as  to  the  status 
of  domestic  affairs." 

"  You  are  out  of  humor,  Barton,  or  you  could 
not  be  so  unjust  to  me  and  to  a  faithful  servant." 

Griselda  would  not  have  retorted  in  a  hard, 
cutting  tone,  but  Griselda  could  neither  read  nor 
write.  Diffusion  of  knowledge  has  a  tendency  to 
breed  sedition  among  the  lower  orders. 

Clubs  for  the  lofty,  and  lager  beer  saloons  for 
the  lowly,  stand,  with  controversial  Benedicks,  for 
the  "  refuges  "  foreign  cities  offer  to  the  fugitive 
from  wheels  and  hoofs. 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  285 

"  Excuse  me  for  leaving  you  to  digest  your 
dinner  and  the  memory  of  that  last  remark  in 
solitude,"  Barton  said  sardonically.  "  I  shall 
finish  my  dinner  at  the  club." 

The  library  was  the  coziest  room  in  the  house. 
Before  Mr.  Rowland  called,  Agnes  had  looked 
into  it  to  see  that  the  fire  was  bright  and  that  Bar- 
ton's easy-chair,  newspaper,  and  cigar-stand  were 
in  place.  Upon  the  table  was  a  bowl  of  Bon 
Silhie  roses  he  had  ordered  on  his  way  down- 
town that  morning.  She  had  poured  out  his 
coffee  and  lighted  his  cigar  here  for  him  last 
night.  It  all  rushed  over  her  with  the  pure  de- 
liciousness  of  the  roses'  breath,  as  she  returned  to 
the  deserted  apartment  after  dinner.  As  she 
moved,  the  fragrance  broke  into  waves  that  over 
whelmed  her  with  the  sweet  agony  of  associative- 
ness. 

Sinking  upon  her  knees  before  her  husband's 
chair,  she  laid  her  head  within  her  enfolding  arms 
and  remained  thus  until  the  clock  struck  nine. 
Then  she  spoke  aloud  : 

"  What  has  he  given  me  in  exchange  for  my 
beautiful  ideal  world  and  for  my  work?  A 
drugged  cup,  with  gall  and  wormwood  in  the 
bottom." 

The  slow,  scornful  syllables  jarred  the  per- 
fumed waves  and  echoed  hollowly  in  the  still 
corners. 

She  arose,  unlocked  a  secretary  at  the  back  of 


286  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

the  room,  and  took  out  a  worn  portfolio — also 
locked.  Selecting  from  the  contents  several  large 
sheets  of  paper,  she  laid  them  in  order  upon  the 
table,  and  drew  from  an  inner  pocket  a  gold  pen 
in  a  shabby  handle.  With  it  she  had  written  her 
first  book.  For  six  years  she  had  used  no  other. 
Before  dipping  it  into  the  ink,  she  kissed  it. 
"  I  have  come  back  to  you  !  "  she  said. 


CHAPTER  III. 

WITH  the  first  heavy  snows  of  December  a 
little  daughter  was  given  to  Agnes  Ashe. 

On  New  Year's  Day  her  husband  proposed  to 
read  aloud  to  her  a  book  "  some  of  the  Club  fel- 
lows were  talking  about  last  night."  The  pale 
face  flushed  nervously  when  he  undid  the  wrap- 
ping paper. 

It  was  one  of  the  "  happenings  "  we  persist  in 
classing  among  singular  coincidences,  although 
they  are  of  daily  occurrence,  that  he  should  have 
selected  that  particular  novel  for  their  entertain- 
ment on  the  holiday  he  proposed  to  devote 
entirely  to  his  convalescent  wife. 

"  The  Story  of  Walter  King "  had  not  been 
sent,  as  one  might  suppose  would  have  been 
natural,  to  Mr.  Rowland  of  Boston. 

"  He  would  guess  instantly  how  matters  are," 
Agnes  reasoned.  "  I  am  still  too  proud  to  run 
that  risk." 

She  took  the  MS.  instead  to  a  New  York 
publisher  in  whose  discretion  she  could  trust,  told 
him  of  her  whim  to  establish  a  new  reputation 
which  should  owe  nothing  to  past  gains,  and  left 


288  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

the  story  with  him.  In  a  week  it  was  accepted 
and  in  the  printer's  hands.  When  Baby  Agnes — 
upon  whom  the  mother  bestowed  the  Scotch  pet- 
name  of  "  Nest  " — was  born,  new  editions  were 
selling  as  fast  as  the  press  could  turn  them 
out. 

It  was  evident,  said  critics,  that  the  fresh,  nerv- 
ous novel  was  from  the  hand  of  a  young  writer, 
skilled  in  the  use  of  language  but  unhackneyed 
by  the  need  of  furnishing  "  pot-boilers."  It  was  as 
evident,  said  readers,  that  the  unknown  author 
had  fed  the  pen  directly  from  his  heart,  and  that 
personal  experience  had  had  much  to  do  with  the 
make-up  of  the  "  live  book." 

Agnes  had  held  no  communication  with  the 
discreet  publisher  since  the  contract  was  signed. 
She  had  not  corrected  the  proof-sheets,  or  had  an 
advance  copy  of  the  work.  There  was,  therefore, 
literal  truth  in  her  reply  to  Barton's  query — 
"  Have  you  read  it?" 

"  I  have  not  even  seen  the  book  that  I  recollect. 
Who  is  the  author  ?  " 

"  John  C.  Hart  " — turning  to  the  title  page. 
"  What  else  has  he  done  ?  " 

"  The  name  sounds  familiar.  Or,  perhaps  it 
may  be  that  I  am  thinking  of  Professor  John  S. 
Hart.  You  are  very  kind  to  think  of  getting  a 
new  book  for  me !  trebly  kind  to  offer  to  read  it 
to  me." 

"  It  is  little  enough  I  can  do  for  the  best  wife 


THE   ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  289 

in  Christendom  !  "  stooping  to  kiss  her  and  then 
Baby  Nest  asleep  in  her  crib  beside  Agnes'  re- 
clining chair. 

The  languid  mother,  grateful  for  his  society 
and  loverly  attentions,  was  more  like  his  ideal 
wife  than  Agnes  had  been  since  the  eve  of  her 
birthday,  when  he  had  almost  forgotten  (through 
her  fault)  that  he  was  a  gentleman.  No  explana- 
tions had  followed  the  ugly  scene.  They  had 
met  at  breakfast  the  next  morning  as  if  the  fracas 
had  not  occurred,  but  then  and  thereafter  he  had 
missed  something  from  his  married  life.  Had  he 
tried  to  analyze  the  vague,  ever  present  discom- 
fort, he  would  have  said  that  his  wife  was  always  on 
guard.  No  surprise  of  abrupt  or  rough  speech 
betrayed  her  into  a  show  of  temper  or  wounded 
feeling.  No  overflow  of  tenderness  elicited  a 
confession  of  answering  devotion.  When  ques- 
tioned, she  was  frank  in  declaring  that  she  loved 
him,  and  sought  to  make  him  happy  in  his  home 
and  content  with  her.  She  was  never  sad  in  his 
sight.  Domestic  and  society  duties  were  cheer- 
fully performed,  she  was  always  ready  to  go  out 
with  him  when  he  desired  it  and  gave  him  her 
company  at  home  conscientiously,  There  was 
the  sore  spot !  He  could  not  prove  that  her  love 
and  duty  were  perfunctory,  but  he  never  got 
away  from  the  irritating  suspicion  that  they  were. 
Had  she  been  miserable,  pettish,  or  fretfully  exact- 
ing, it  would  have  accorded  better  with  his  creed 


290  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

of  the  absolute  dependence  of  a  woman  upon  her 
lord.  In  plain  English — which,  however,  he 
would  have  been  ashamed  to  put  into  words 
in  any  language — it  irked  him  that  his  mental 
and  moral  barometer  could  not  set  the  weather 
for  his  household.  There  was  a  something  back 
of  Agnes'  even  temper  and  equable  spirits  he 
could  not  touch  and  that  told  him  she  was  suffi- 
cient unto  herself.  Into  this  she  seemed  to  retire 
as  into  the  cleft  of  a  rock  when  the  matrimonial 
horizon  threatened  storm. 

There  was  no  one  to  tell  him  of  mornings 
spent  in  the  library,  or  of  the  work  done  during 
the  evenings  he  passed  at  the  club.  He  ought  to 
have  been  gratified  at  her  smiling  aquiescence 
in  his  apologetic  representation  of  the  business 
necessity  laid  upon  a  man  to  mingle  socially  with 
"  the  fellows."  Some  women  made  it  preciously 
disagreeable  for  husbands  who  acted  upon  this 
compulsion,  but  his  wife  was  never  lonely  by  day 
or  night.  If  he  came  home  at  eleven  o'clock, 
she  was  in  the  library,  reading  or  knitting  beside 
a  glowing  fire,  ready  to  receive  him  and  to  listen 
with  interest  to  club  stories  or  incidents.  If  he 
stayed  out  after  midnight,  she  went  to  bed  like  a 
sensible  Christian  and  slept  soundly. 

What  could  be  more  exemplary  and  satisfac- 
tory ?  He  had  a  model  wife.  Would  sulks, 
tears,  and  chidings  have  been  more  to  his  taste  ? 
This  conclusion  reached,  he  would  berate  himself 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  291 

for  "  an  unreasonable  dog  " — and  go  on  missing 
something  he  could  not  define. 

An  odd  conceit  came  to  Agnes  as  the  full, 
manly  voice  began  "  The  Story  of  Walter  King  " 
— a  fancy  that  won  a  smile  from  her  at  first,  and 
terrified  her  when  she  could  not  shake  it  off.  She 
was  the  unsuspected  mother  of  a  foundling.  In 
secret  and  in  fear,  she  had  laid  the  new-born  baby 
at  a  stranger's  door.  He  had  cared  for,  fostered, 
and  clothed  it,  and  on  this  New  Year's  Day,  her 
husband  had  ignorantly  adopted  the  waif  and  led 
it,  a  beautiful  child,  to  her,  bespeaking  her  admira- 
tion for  it. 

For  her  own  baby  !  the  thing  born  of  her  soul, 
the  express  image  of  her  thought,  the  bright, 
glorious  darling  in  whom,  and  with  whom,  and 
by  whom,  she  had  lived  all  these  weary,  weary 
months  !  Her  husband  would  introduce  these  two 
to  one  another  !  Was  her  left  hand  a  stranger  to 
her  right  ?  Was  her  heart  alien  to  the  blood  leap- 
ing from  it  ? 

She  could  have  laughed  and  cried  hysterically, 
could  have  snatched  the  book  from  the  uncon- 
scious reader  and  covered  it  with  tears  and  kisses. 
She  must  touch  and  hold  it  once,  if  but  for  a 
minute,  or  the  strained  heart-strings  would  part. 

"  Can  you  see  well  ?  "  she  interrupted  the  reader 
to  ask.  The  calm  tone  surprised  herself  and  lent 
her  courage  to  carry  out  her  stratagem.  "  Does 
the  light  fall  right  for  you  ?  In  her  anxiety  to 


292  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

exclude  draughts  and  the  snow  glare,  Mrs.  Ames 
may  have  made  it  too  dark  for  well  people.  Is 
the  type  pretty  clear  ?  " 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  drew  the  volume  from 
his.  The  sight  of  familiar  paragraphs  and  names 
was  as  if  the  child  had  laughed,  in  happy  recogni- 
tion, into  her  eyes.  She  passed  her  ringers  lov- 
ingly over  the  page,  stroked  the  binding,  raised 
the  open  book  to  her  lips,  and  gave  it  back 
reluctantly. 

"  The  smell  of  newly  printed  pages  is  delicious 
to  me,"  she  said,  trying  to  laugh.  "  Sweeter  than 
new-mown  hay." 

"  They  have  brought  it  out  in  good  style,"  ob- 
served Barton  carelessly.  "  One  gets  no  slipshod 
literature  from  that  house.  Their  imprint  is  a  title 
of  intellectual  nobility." 

Agnes  smiled  brightly  in  assent,  turned  her 
cheek  to  the  cushioned  back  of  her  chair,  and 
closed  her  eyes  to  keep  the  happy  tears  from  slip- 
ping beneath  the  lids.  Was  the  time  close  at 
hand  in  which  she  could  safely  acknowledge  her 
offspring  ?  To  screen  the  fact  of  her  maternity 
from  possible  premature  discovery  she  had  re- 
frained from  so  much  as  looking  upon  or  speaking 
of  the  bantling  for  these  long  weeks.  Providence 
had  put  this  opportunity  of  honorable  recognition 
before  her.  How  should  she  seize  it  ? 

A  thought  struck  her  like  an  icebolt.  What 
would  Barton  say,  even  in  this  auspicious  hour,  to 


THE   ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  293 

the  systematic  concealment  practiced  before  and 
since  the  advent  of  the  adopted  child  ?  Would 
he  throw  it  from  him  as  he  would  a  snake  ?  She 
pictured  the  possibility  of  virtuous  horror  in  the 
regards  turned  upon  her,  the  aversion  a  moral 
man  feels  for  a  lost  woman.  Deception — even 
untruth  might  be  forgiven;  the  deliberate  dis- 
regard of  his  expressed  wish  that  his  wife  should 
never  again  put  sentiment  or  feeling  of  hers  into 
print  would  be  construed  into  absolute  crime. 
He  held  the  desire  for  literary  renown  on  the  part 
of  a  woman  to  be  a  fault  that  unsexed  her.  In  a 
young  girl  the  ambition  might  spring  from  the 
unrest  of  an  unfilled  heart,  mistaken,  but  pardon- 
able as  a  blunder  of  ignorance.  A  wife's  heart, 
thoughts,  and  hands  should  be  full  of  home  and 
home  loves,  or  she  did  not  deserve  her  high  and 
blessed  estate. 

She  felt,  now,  that  she  could  never  make  him 
understand  how  the  side  of  her  nature  which  he 
saw  and  knew  was  bettered  and  elevated  by  the 
healthful  action  of  its  twin,  to  which  he  was  a 
stranger.  She  had  "  put  herself  into  the  book," 
but  not  in  the  lower  and  vulgar  sense  in  which  the 
reviewers  had  used  the  phrase.  The  aspirations 
with  which  others  could  not  intermeddle — least  of 
all,  the  husband  who  so  grossly  misjudged  her,  the 
fancies  that  beguiled  Time  of  heaviness  and  drew 
the  soreness  from  her  heart  while  she  dallied  with 
them — were  there.  Her  ideals  were  her  real 


294  THE   ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

companions;  her  dream  children  her  only  con- 
fidants. 

"  The  things  which  are  seen  are  temporal ;  the 
things  which  are  not  seen  are  eternal" 

The  author  who  is  not  made,  but  born;  the 
idealist  whose  brain  creations  are  to  him  almost 
visible  and  tangible,  while  he  communes  with 
them — can,  of  all  men,  enter  most  joyfully  into 
the  meaning  of  the  sweet  mysticism  uttered  by 
the  Creator  of  things  temporal  and  things 
eternal. 

It  was  a  snowy  day ;  transient  glimmers  of 
white  light,  shed  from  thinner  clouds,  were  the 
precursors  of  thicker  falls  of  soundless  flakes. 
There  was  no  wind,  and  as  Agnes  watched  the 
storm  between  the  slightly  parted  blinds,  a  cur- 
tain of  purest  lace  seemed  unfolding  and  wavering 
earthward.  The  hush  of  a  great  holiday  en- 
wrapped the  city.  Baby  Nest  slumbered  peace- 
fully amid  billows  of  lawn  and  wool ;  the  strong, 
mobile  features  of  the  husband  she  loved  and 
feared  more  than  any  other  living  mortal  dark- 
ened and  lightened  like  the  snow  clouds,  with  the 
progress  of  the  story.  He  read  well,  and  threw 
unusual  spirit  into  the  present  task. 

Agnes  hearkened,  with  a  growing  sense  of  un- 
reality. The  disowned  child  pressed  nearer  and 
closer,  gazed  appealingly  into  her  face,  cooed 
love  words  in  her  ear,  covered  with  kisses  the 
hands  with  which  the  hapless  mother  was  con- 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  295 

strained  to  hold  it  aloof  from  the  heart  that 
yearned  to  take  it  in. 

Sometimes  Barton's  voice  sounded  a  great  way 
off,  and  she  confused  his  utterances  with  the 
winged  ideas  she  had  formulated  into  human  lan- 
guage. Was  she  thinking  it  all  out  ?  or  was  he 
enunciating  what  she  had  thought  through  the 
languorous  summer  days  and  cool  autumn  even- 
ings ?  She  used  to  wonder,  amusedly,  what  he 
supposed  she  did  during  the  many  hours  she 
spent  in  solitude.  He  never  asked,  but  if  he  had 
deemed  the  matter  worthy  of  speculation,  he 
might  have  reasoned  that  a  woman  who  did  not 
make  her  own  clothes  and  had  no  taste  for  fancy 
work,  whose  house  was  well  appointed  and  not 
large,  and  whose  health  was  good  must,  with  two 
servants  to  do  housework  and  cooking,  have  much 
time  upon  her  hands. 

"  How  do  women  occupy  themselves  who  keep 
plenty  of  servants  and  do  not  write,  paint,  or 
study  anything  in  particular?"  asked  the  young 
son  of  a  woman  who  kept  house,  wrote 
books,  painted  pictures,  and  studied  with  her 
children. 

"  They  make  a  profession  of  horacide !  "  an- 
swered the  mother. 

Barton  lowered  the  book  so  abruptly  that  his 
wife  started  and  clasped  her  hands  involuntarily. 
She  was  very  weak. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  this  man !  " 


296  THE   ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

"  What  man  ?  " 

"  The  fellow  who  wrote  this  book !  He  is  a 
New  York  lawyer — that  is  plain.  His  insight  of 
legal  chicanery  and  his  apt  use  of  technical  law 
terms  show  that,  if  his  clever  reasoning  did  not. 
A  Columbia  graduate,  too  !  I'll  go  bail  for  that. 
And  a  society  man.  By  George  !  that  narrows 
the  case  down  pretty  well.  I  don't  know  a  man 
at  the  city  bar,  though,  who  has  sufficient  literary 
skill  to  turn  out  such  a  piece  of  work  as  this. 
'  John  C.  Hart '  is  a  pseudonym,  of  course — but 
there  may  be  a  meaning  in  it." 

He  fell  into  a  muse  over  the  title  page,  knot- 
ting his  brows  and  plucking  at  his  lower  lip 
while  he  scanned  the  name. 

Agnes'  breath  came  quick  ;  her  head  swam  as 
in  seasickness.  She  shook  herself  mentally  and 
tried  to  speak  as  usual : 

"  It  may  be  another  case  of  George  Eliot, 
alias  Mary  Anne  Evans;  or  Charles  Egbert  Crad- 
dock,  alias  Miss  Murfree." 

"  Preposterous  !  There  isn't  a  feminine  touch 
in  the  book.  And  no  woman  of  the  education 
and  refinement  of  this  writer  could  know  any- 
thing of  the  scenes  and  motives  he  describes. 
Men  can  paint  women  faithfully.  Women  who 
try  to  depict  men  show  us  up  as  hybrids,  crea- 
tures of  their  own  sex  disguised  in  masculine 
habiliments.  Ready-made  clothes  at  that,  baggy 
at  the  knees  and  short  at  the  wrists.  I  should  not 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  297 

like,  however,  to  know  a  woman  who  could  write 
'  The  Story  of  Walter  King.' " 

"  It  does  not  impress  me  as  coarse  !  "  Agnes  was 
nerved  by  instinctive  resentment  to  say. 

"  Not  a  symptom  of  coarseness  about  it.  But 
it  is  virile — and  that  your  woman  author  ought 
never  to  be !  Any  man  might  be  proud  of  having 
written  this  novel.  Any  true,  modest  woman 
would  blush  to  be  accused  of  it.  You  see  the 
difference  ?  " 

"  /  see  the  difference  between  the  patient  I  left 
three  hours  ago,  and  the  one  I  find  here  now !  " 
interjected  the  nurse  bluntly. 

She  had  come  in  while  Barton  was  speaking, 
and  had  her  hand  on  Mrs.  Ashe's  pulse. 

"  Tut !  tut !  tut !  "  she  went  on  in  grave  vexa- 
tion. "  We  shall  have  the  doctor  again  if  this 
sort  of  excitement  goes  on.  Eyes  glassy,  pulse 
up,  and,  I  venture  to  say,  headache  back  of  the 
eyes.  Don't  deny  it,  Mrs.  Ashe  !  I  know  the 
signs.  Here's  your  lunch — after  which,  we  must 
have  the  room  darkened  and  try  to  compose 
your  nerves.  It  won't  do  to  have  a  throw-back 
at  this  late  day." 

Barton  carried  off  "  The  Story  of  Walter  King  " 
with  him  to  the  library,  a  little  anxious,  but  more 
aggrieved.  In  common  with  the  mighty  majority 
of  husbands,  he  resented  Mrs.  Gamp  the  more 
virulently  because  impotent  against  her  tyranny. 

"  Thank  Heaven  that  her  time,  like  her  infernal 


298  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

master's,  is  short ! "  growled  he,  dropping  into  his 
easy-chair  and  throwing  his  legs  over  the  foot-rest 
in  lordly  disdain  of  appearances.  "  I  suppose 
women  enjoy  being  hectored,  or  the  sex  would 
rise  en  masse  against  this  order  of  haggish  hum- 
bugs. Agnes  didn't  dare  peep  a  defense  of  her- 
self, or  of  me.  Great  Scott !  suppose  I  had  been 
born  a  woman !  " 

He  lighted  a  cigar  and  reopened  his  book.  A 
luxurious,  if  lonely,  lunch  was  served  at  half-past 
one.  Wine  and  walnuts  went  with  him  into  the 
library  after  the  meal  was  eaten.  The  air  was  blue 
with  fragrant  smoke  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  He 
did  not  take  the  nap  he  had  promised  himself  as 
the  chief  delight  of  a  lazy  afternoon,  until  the 
last  page  of  "  The  Story  of  Walter  King  "  was 
devoured.  Even  after  he  had  stretched  himself 
upon  the  lounge  and  drawn  .the  silken  and  eider- 
down slumber-robe  over  him,  he  lay  looking  at 
the  purring  fire  of  sea-coal  and  listening  to  the 
muffled  tinkle  of  sleigh-bells  along  Fifth  Avenue, 
which  was  but  a  block  distant — and  thinking  of 
the  book  that  had  enchained  him  so  many  hours. 
It  had  taken  a  powerful  grip  of  his  imagination 
and  titillated  his  intellectual  palate  smartly. 
There  were  passages  in  it  'that  recalled  pertinent 
and  pregnant  sayings  of  his  own  relative  to  cer- 
tain topics  discussed  in  the  fascinating  pages; 
theories  he  had  advanced  and  maintained  ;  his 
very  turns  of  speech  were  here  and  there. 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  299 

Again  he  said,  "  I  should  like  to  know  that 
man.  He  has  a  long  head  and  sharp  wits  of  his 
own.  Immense  knowledge  of  the  world  and 
human  nature."  Without  the  least  intention  of 
being  conceited  he  subjoined  to  the  silent  solilo- 
quy: "  If  I  had  turned  my  attention  to  literature, 
I  believe  I  could  have  written  that  book.  But 
one  man  cannot  be  proficient  in  everything.  The 
suggestion  of  feminine  authorship  is  ridiculous. 
Poor  Agnes  is  a  sensible  girl,  but  she  is  wide  of 
the  mark  there." 

Here  his  thoughts  wandered  into  the  poppied 
plains  of  sleep. 

Awaking  from  his  siesta  to  find  himself  in  the 
dark,  he  arose  refreshed,  and  paid  a  dutiful  call  to 
his  wife's  chamber  before  going  out  to  dine  at  his 
club.  The  nurse  met  him  upon  the  threshold 
and  stepped  out  into  the  hall  for  a  whispered  col- 
loquy. Both  of  her  charges  had  been  restless  all 
the  afternoon.  The  baby  was  colicky,  Mrs.  Ashe 
feverish  and  excited,  although  persisting  that 
nothing  ailed  her. 

"  She  has  an  exquisitely  susceptible  nervous 
organization,"  she  continued  in  the  parrotlike 
lingo  of  the  trained  nurse.  "We  must  really 
guard  her  more  carefully  in  future.  She  was  talk- 
ing about  that  novel  in  her  sleep  just  now— beg- 
ging you  not  to  take  it  away  from  her  and  all 
that,  in  quite  a  wild  way.  There  is  evidently 
cerebral  excitement.  Perhaps,  as  you  are  going 


300  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

out,  it  might  be  prudent  to  telephone  the  doctor 
to  drop  in  toward  bedtime." 

"  Oh,  a  good  sleep  will  set  her  up  all  right !  " 
returned  Barton  slightingly.  It  did  not  suit  his 
notions  of  marital  rights  to  be  interviewed  and 
advised  in  a  ghostly  whisper  without  the  precincts 
of  his  own  room,  by  this  pretentious  hireling. 
"  The  book  had  nothing  to  do  with  her  uncom- 
fortable afternoon.  It  was  probably  the  luncheon. 
I  thought,  when  you  brought  it  up,  that  it  was 
more  like  a  meal  for  a  ditcher  than  for  a  delicate 
invalid." 

Pleased  at  administering  this  Roland  for  accum- 
ulated Olivers,  he  ran  downstairs  without  attend- 
ing to  her  protest,  and  whistled  softly  while 
equipping  himself  for  the  walk  through  the  snow. 
The  night  was  sharply  cold  ;  the  drifts  were  as 
dry  as  dust.  He  laughed  like  a  boy  in  plowing 
through  them.  The  return  to  bachelor  freedom 
was  not  bad,  for  a  change,  and  there  were  sure  to 
be  a  lot  of  prime  fellows  at  the  club  on  a  stormy 
holiday  night. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AT  eleven  o'clock  of  that  New  Year's  night  the 
snow  still  fell,  but  the  wind  had  increased  to  a 
gale,  and  shook  the  eastward  windows  of  Agnes 
Ashe's  bedchamber. 

Nurse  and  baby  were  sound  asleep  in  the  ad- 
joining nursery.  Even  in  the  well-built  house  and 
curtained  room,  the  night-light  wavered  in  the 
unquiet  air,  sending  fitful  hosts  of  specter  shad- 
ows scurrying  over  the  ceiling  and  falling  down 
the  walls.  Sometimes  one  dropped  upon  the  bed 
and  made  mouths  or  crooked  lean  fingers  at  the 
convalescent.  Now  and  then  they  whispered 
something  in  fleeing  or  skulking  past.  When  this 
happened  they  spoke  of  her  husband  and  how  he 
had  carried  off  both  her  babies  downstairs.  For 
Baby  Nest's  crib  was  gone.  She  had  been  doubly 
robbed. 

The  door  of  communication  between  the  rooms 
was  ajar.  Mrs.  Ashe  had  need  to  move  cau- 
tiously in  arising  and  wrapping  herself  in  a  dress- 
ing gown.  She  had  been  three  weeks  upstairs. 
Mrs.  Ames  had  declared  her  too  feeble  to  walk 
across  the  room  unaided,  but  to-night  she  felt 
strong  and  restless.  Her  brain  was  teeming  with 
fledged  thoughts,  crying  and  fluttering  to  escape. 


302  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

If  she  had  pen  and  ink  she  could  begin  another 
book,  now  that  the  nurse  was  asleep  and  Barton 
out.  But  that  was  not  her  reason  for  getting  up 
and  slipping  on  the  wrapper.  Oh,  no  !  She  drew 
the  door  to  behind  her  cautiously,  listened  with 
held  breath  for  sounds  from  the  inner  room,  and 
hearing  nothing,  smiled  cunningly,  crept  to  the 
stair-head  and  down  the  polished  steps.  Their 
chill  struck  through  the  slippers  into  which  she 
had  thrust  her  stockingless  feet ;  she  shivered  in 
the  wind  that  drove  fine  snow  under  the  front 
door  and  whistled  jeeringly  at  her  as  she  went  by. 

The  library  was  void  of  human  presence  but 
warm  and  murky  red  with  firelight.  The  vivid 
glow  of  the  Argand  burner,  as  she  touched  the 
regulator,  shone  upon  glittering  eyes,  scarlet 
cheeks,  and  red  lips  that  showed  her  teeth  in  the 
fixed  smile  of  successful  cunning.  She  found 
what  she  sought  at  once.  Barton  had  left  "  The 
Story  of  Walter  King  "  upon  the  table  beside  his 
reading  chair.  He  would  be  out  late.  There  was 
nothing  to  call  him  home  and  he  was  fond  of  his 
club.  She  was  quite  safe  for  an  hour  or  two — secure 
from  spy  and  intrusion — she  and  her  brain-baby. 

Clasping  it  to  her  heart,  she  wept  and  smiled, 
rocked  herself  to  and  fro  as  she  would  cuddle 
Baby  Nest,  did  the  nurse  allow  it.  There  was 
nobody  to  meddle  with  her  here.  She  settled 
herself  in  the  easy-chair  and,  finding  where  Barton 
had  left  off,  read  on  and  on,  until  the  type  began 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  303 

to  gyrate  queerly  in  fantastic  measure  across  the 
page.  Her  eyes  were  getting  tired.  The  tyrant 
above-stairs  had  prohibited  reading  so  long  that 
the  effort  tried  her  strength. 

Still  holding  the  book  to  her  bosom,  she  looked 
around.  The  library  was  not  so  orderly  as  when 
she  visited  it  tri-daily.  There  were  no  flowers  on 
the  table,  yet  she  fancied  that  she  smelled  Bon 
Sittne  roses,  as  she  had  on  that  far-back  March 
night  when  she  unlocked  the  door  leading  into 
her  beautiful,  comforting  Other  World,  where  no 
rough  blasts  shook  buds  from  blowing,  no  iron 
hand  pressed  down  Fancy  and  held  in  Imagina- 
tion with  curb  and  bridle.  The  ash-cup  of  the 
bronze  smoking  table  was  filled  with  ashes,  burnt 
stumps  of  cigars  littered  the  hearth.  Seeing  them 
she  bethought  herself  of  the  truncated  brown 
canoe  tossing  in  the  foam-fringe  of  the  tide  on 
the  Old  Point  beach.  By  shutting  her  eyes  she 
could  reproduce  the  scene  with  the  minuteness  of 
a  photograph  ;  could  see  the  floating  and  swooping 
gulls,  silver-breasted  against  the  blue  sky,  and 
hear  the  swash  of  the  waters  between  the  rocks. 

She  was  dreaming !  It  would  never  do  to  fall 
asleep  here  and  be  discovered  by  Barton  or  Mrs. 
Ames  !  Rubbing  her  eyes,  she  forced  herself  to 
note  that  one  slipper  lay  on  the  rug,  the  other 
under  a  chair,  just  as  Barton  had  kicked  it  off. 

"  Fie  !  fie  !  what  would  people  say  of  a  literary 
woman's  menage,  were  these  things  seen  ?  " 


3°4  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

Presently,  when  her  head  stopped  reeling,  she 
would  pick  them  up  and  straighten  the  slumber- 
robe,  all  crumpled  together  on  the  foot  of  the 
lounge,  the  pillow  of  which  was  indented  by  Bar- 
ton's head.  Sitting  bolt  upright,  she  stared  at 
robe  and  cushion,  so  eloquent  of  her  husband's 
recent  presence.  Her  eyes  were  dry  with  misery, 
her  features  worked  into  sharpness.  She  looked, 
not  six,  but  twenty  years  older  than  the  hale  man 
who  had  lain  there,  indolent  and  at  ease,  while  she 
turned  wretchedly  upon  her  bed  throughout  the 
tedious  afternoon. 

Oh,  the  dead  Past !     Oh,  murdered  Love  ! 

"  He  said  that  no  pure  woman  would  have 
written  that  book,"  she  murmured.  "  He  must 
never  know  !  Why,  he  would  turn  me  into  the 
street  to-night,  if  he  found  it  out." 

She  crossed  the  room,  catching  at  the  furniture 
as  she  staggered  along  to  the  secretary.  The  key 
hung  upon  a  hidden  hook  under  the  drawers. 
She  felt  for  it,  opened  the  central  compartment  of 
the  escritoire,  and  took  out  an  old,  roomy  port- 
folio. There  were  papers  in  it  that  must  be 
destroyed.  She  meant  to  do  it  before  she  was 
taken  ill,  but  everything  had  been  so  sudden.  It 
would  never  do  to  leave  them  for  other  eyes  in 
case  of  her  death.  While  she  fumbled  in  the 
pockets  and  drew  out  the  MSS.  she  checked  her- 
self in  repeating  irrelevant  rhymes : 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  305 

"  That  husbands  could  be  cruel, 
I  have  known  for  seasons  three, 
But,  oh  !  to  ride  Vindictive  while  a  baby  cries  for  me." 

"  If  only  my  head  would  be  steady  and  clear 
again  for  five  minutes  ! " 

The  portfolio  was  nearly  emptied  into  her  lap 
when  an  awful  voice  from  the  doorway  said : 

"  Mrs.  Ashe !  what  am  I  to  think  of  this  extra- 
ordinary proceeding  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ames,  portentous  in  flannel  gown  and 
curl-papers,  confronted  the  affrighted  culprit. 
Through  the  open  door  and  down  the  stairway 
came  the  wail  of  the  hungry  baby. 

"  I  only  came  down  for  her  brother,"  trem- 
blingly clutching  her  book,  and  letting  the  port- 
folio slide  to  the  floor.  "  I  felt  so  strong !  so 
well !  I  will  run  up  to  the  little  sister  now — at 
once.  Poor  little  Nest !  she  wants  me,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

Mrs.  Gamp's  severe  eyes  softened  into  anxiety. 
She  spoke  soothingly,  in  passing  her  powerful 
arm  around  the  shaking  form. 

"  Yes,  dear.  She  wants  mamma.  Lean  on  me 
and  don't  hurry  too  much.  The  stairs  are  a  steep 
climb." 

Upon  the  upper  landing  Agnes,  stopping  to 
breathe,  smiled  piteously  into  the  compassionate 
face. 

"You  see" — showing  a  corner   of  the  volume 


306  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

hidden  in  the  folds  of  her  gown — "  this  is  as 
much  my  baby  as  the  other  one,  and  I  knew  he 
was  downstairs  all  alone.  You  will  let  me  keep 
him — won't  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  dear !  We'll  put  him  to  bed  with 
you,  right  under  your  pillow." 

"And  not  a  word  to  Barton?"  Putting  her 
lips  close  to  the  other's  ear,  she  whispered  fear- 
fully— "  You  know  he  would  turn  us  both  out  into 
the  street  if  he  knew." 

"  He  shan't  hear  a  lisp  from  me  !  "  asseverated 
the  nurse  stoutly.  "  We'll  have  the  two  of  you 
sound  asleep  before  he  comes  in." 

She  always  humored  delirious  patients.  In 
such  cases  veracity  courtesied  to  expediency. 

The  prime  fellows  made  up  a  theater  party  after 
the  club  dinner  and  ended  a  jolly  day  with  a 
jollier  supper.  The  silvery  tongue  of  the  French 
timepiece  upon  the  library  mantel  said  it  was  one 
o'clock  as  Barton,  entering,  was  amazed  to  see 
that  he  must  have  left  the  Argand  reading  burner 
up  at  full  height.  A  second  step  showed  traces  of 
other  occupation  than  his  and  of  later  date.  His 
wife's  secretary  was  open,  a  portfolio  lay  wide 
upon  the  floor,  and  the  rug  was  strewed  with 
papers.  Before  the  suspicion  of  burglary  could 
cross  his  mind,  he  trod  upon  something  hard.  It 
was  a  heavy  gold  hair  pin  of  a  peculiar  pattern, 
which  Agnes  wore  constantly.  He  had  noticed  it 
in  her  hair  at  noon  to-day,  as  her  head  lay  back 


THE   ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  307 

against  the  cushions,  weighed  down,  it  would  seem, 
by  the  heavy  coils. 

Had  that  hypocritical  hag  of  a  nurse  allowed 
such  outrageous  imprudence  in  his  absence?  He 
examined  the  lock  of  the  secretary.  The  key 
which  he  believed  was  kept  upstairs  by  Agnes 
was  in  it ;  a  survey  of  the  apartment  revealed  no 
other  signs  of  unwonted  disorder. 

"  Oh,  these  women !  "  his  face,  florid  with  cham- 
pagne, hock,  and  righteous  choler,  crimsoned 
apoplectically  when  he  stooped  for  the  portfolio. 
A  sheet  of  paper,  covered  with  his  wife's  neat, 
compact  chirography,  fell  out. 

It  was  in  verse,  and  bore  no  caption. 

"So-ho!  poetry!" 

As  in  a  dream,  he  seemed  to  hear  Agnes' 
voice : 

"  I  am  not  a  bard  at  all.  When  I  am  in  the 
dark,  or  at  best  in  a  half-light — sorry  or  weary, 
or  lonely  of  heart — my  thoughts  take  rhythmic 
shape." 

At  the  bottom  of  the  third  page  of  the  rhymes 
was  a  date. 

"  October  5,  188— ." 

He  recollected  the  day.  He  had  gone  off  to 
join  some  friends  for  a  week's  hunting,  leaving 
her  in  a  quiet  mountain  inn. 

"And  she  was  lonely  of  heart — poor  little 
wifie ! " 

He  sat  down  to  read : 


308  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

"  He  turned  him  at  the  maple  tree, 
To  wave  a  fond  farewell  to  me. 
The  burning  branches  touched  his  head, 
Tawny  and  ash,  and  dappled  red. 
Behind  him,  in  still  fold  on  fold — 
As  painters  lay  with  leaves  of  gold 
The  ground  on  which  they  mean  to  trace 
Some  favorite  saint  of  special  grace — 
The  chestnuts  floored  and  roofed  and  hung 
Niche  for  my  hero  saint.     Down-flung 
From  cedar  tops,  the  wild  woodbine 
Lent  pennons  brave  to  deck  the  shrine ; 
Barbaric  sumachs  straight  upbore 
Their  crimson  lamps,  and,  light  and  hoar, — 
Like  votive  lace  bestowed  by  dame, 
Repentant  of  her  splendid  shame, — 
O'er  withered  shrub  and  brier  and  stone, 
The  seeded  clematis  was  thrown. 

I  thought  my  heart  broke  in  the  rush 

Of  tears  that  blotted  out  the  flush 

Of  draping  vine  and  burning  bough. 

'  Oh,  love  of  mine  ! ' — thus  ran  my  vow — 

'  Let  Heaven  but  stoop  to  hear  my  prayer, 

But  lift  the  cross  I  cannot  bear, 

This  lonely,  living  death  of  pain, 

And  give  my  darling  back  again 

To  longing  heart  and  straining  eyes — 

To  grief  and  loss  in  other  guise, 

Silent  I'll  bow,  and,  smiling,  see 

Sweet  dawn  in  gloom  that's  shared  with  thee  ! '  " 

The  champagne  had  been  heady,  and  there  was 
a  good  deal  of  hock.  Tears  of  maudlin  sentimen- 
tality suffused  the  reader's  eyes  at  the  metrical 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  3°9 

tribute  to  himself  as  his  wife's  "  hero-saint."  So 
long  as  she  published  nothing  of  the  sort,  it  was 
pleasant  to  find,  accidentally,  that  she  wrote  love 
verses  in  his  absence,  dedicated  to  him.  He  had 
not  suspected  how  much  she  felt  their  parting — 
she  had  borne  herself  so  heroically.  Brushing 
away  the  soft  moisture,  he  read  on  : 

"  To-day,  I  stood  and  saw  him  stay 
His  horse  upon  the  woodland  way, 
And  toss  to  me  a  gay  farewell. 
The  chestnut  leaves  about  him  fell ; 
The  royal  maples  burned  and  shone, 
Veiling  misshapen  branch  and  stone, 
The  misty  clematis  lay  white ; 
The  woodbine  from  the  cedar's  height, 
The  sumach's  crimson  cones,  the  breath 
That  amber  hickories  yield  in  death — 
All  were  the  same.     October  rare 
Held  sway  divine  o'er  earth  and  air. 
The  horseman's  port  was  kingly — yet 
My  lips  unwrung,  my  eyes  unwet, 
My  heart  recoils  in  cold  despair 
At  memory  of  that  granted  prayer. 


My  beautiful  dead  dream  !    The  Spring 
Beyond  Life's  winter,  which  will  bring 
Earth's  buried  ones  to  love's  embrace, 
Will  hold  for  me  no  quickening  grace. 
Summers  may  go,  Octobers  come  ; — 
Deep  out  of  sight,  and  pale  and  dumb, 
Lies  the  hope  that  never  was  to  be, 
My  saint  who  lived  not — save  to  me  !  " 


31°  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

He  went  over  the  second  section  of  the  poem 
twice  before  the  wine-warmed  brain  accepted  the 
significance  of  the  lines. 

Then,  he  swore  a  little.  He  would  be  no- 
matter-what-ed  if  he  could  make  out  women's 
fantasies.  He  supposed  this  was  a  fancy  sketch, 
an  impersonal  rigmarole,  altogether,  but  it  was 
no-matter-what-ed  (again)  disagreeable  stuff  for  a 
fellow  to  read  who  recollected  that  he  had  ridden 
away  last  October  from  a  dry-eyed  wife  into  the 
burning  heart  of  such  a  wood  as  was  here  de- 
scribed. He  did  not  remember  turning  under 
the  maple  tree,  it  was  true — if  indeed  there  were 
a  maple  tree  at  the  top  of  the  hill.  There  might 
be  some  mistake  in  the  whole  thing,  but  it  went 
against  a  fellow's  grain  to  admit  the  possibility 
that  his  wife  had  another  man  even  in  the  eye  of 
her  imagination. 

He  renewed  the  business  of  collecting  the  scat- 
tered papers.  He  would  read  no  more  poetry 
to-night,  but  an  unsealed  law  envelope,  without 
address,  lay  under  the  armchair.  It  was  white 
and  fresh,  and  the  folds  of  the  instrument  inclosed 
were  crisp  with  newness.  He  pulled  it  out : 

"  MEMORANDUM  OF  AGREEMENT  made  this  6th 
Day  of  August,  188 — ,  between  AGNES  WELLES 
ASHE  of  New  York  City,  and  RHINE,  RHONE  & 
CO.,  Publishers  of  New  York  City. 

"Said  AGNES  WELLES  ASHE  being  the  author 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  311 

and  proprietor  of  a  work  entitled,  '  THE  STORY 
OF  WALTER  KING,  BY  JOHN  C.  HART,'  in  con- 
sideration of  the  covenants  and  stipulation,  etc., 
etc.,  etc." 

The  shock  cleared  the  lawyer's  head  on  the 
instant.  He  perused  the  document  to  signatures, 
seals,  and  witnesses,  refolded  and  restored  it  to 
the  envelope,  put  it  back  into  the  portfolio,  and 
the  portfolio  into  the  escritoire,  turned  the  key 
in  the  lock  and  took  his  stand  upon  the  rug,  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  his  back  to  the  fire.  His 
face  was  purple,  his  eyes  glared. 

"  So  much  for  marrying  a  literary  woman ! 
They  are  a  bad  lot !  " 

He  spat  it  out  viciously  and  a  bitter,  sounding 
oath  after  it. 

The  door-bell  rang  loudly,  attended  by  the 
sound  of  stamping  feet  upon  the  mat  outside. 
The  master  of  the  house  answered  the  summons. 
The  family  physician  crowded  in  past  him,  pulling 
off  his  overcoat  as  he  came. 

"  How  is  she  ? "  he  demanded,  without  pre- 
amble. 

"She!     Who?" 

"  Mrs.  Ashe  !  One  of  your  maids  telephoned 
for  me  at  half-past  twelve,  from  the  nearest 
station — '  Come  at  once  !  Mrs.  Ashe  is  danger- 
ously ill.'  Can  there  be  some  mistake  ?" 

Mrs.  Ames  called   him    from   the  top  of  the 


312  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

stairs:  "Come  up  quick,  please,  doctor.  It  takes 
two  of  us  to  hold  her  in  bed." 

The  doctor  rushed  upstairs.  Barton  walked 
leisurely  back  into  the  library  and  shut  the  door. 
A  woman  who  had  sat  here  reading  old  MSS.  and 
new  contracts  until  she  heard  her  husband's  latch- 
key in  the  outer  door,  then  rushed  off  up  a  long 
flight  of  stairs  to  avoid  him,  in  such  frantic  haste 
that  she  fell  into  a  fit  at  the  top,  might  come  out 
of  it  without  his  help.  He  would  never  be  fooled 
by  her  again,  so  help  him  God  ! 

Half  an  hour  went  by  and  he  had  not  moved, 
although  the  stealthy  rush  of  feet  overhead 
bespoke  excitement  and  yet  caution  on  the  part 
of  the  attendants,  and  twice  a  faint  scream  pene- 
trated the  ceiling.  At  last  he  reached  out  his 
hand  for  pen  and  paper  and  began  a  letter. 

"  MY  DEAR  UNCLE  .: 

"  I  said  to  you,  jestingly,  thirteen  months  ago, 
that  I  would  employ  you  to  draw  up  articles  of 
separation  in  the  event  of  my  needing " 

The  pen  stopped.  He  could  have  sworn  that 
someone  passed  him,  so  close  that  he  felt  the 
wind  from  floating  garments,  and  that  there  was 
the  odor  of  Bon  Silene  roses  in  the  air.  It  was 
strangely  still  overhead.  Cold  sweat  broke  out 
all  over  him ;  when  he  strove  to  resume  his  writ- 
ing, his  fingers  were  nerveless.  Slow,  heavy  feet 


THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION.  313 

came  down  the  stairs  and  to  the  library  door.  It 
was  opened  without  the  ceremony  of  knocking, 
and  the  physician  appeared. 

A  withering  glance  took  in  the  details  of  the 
quiet  figure  at  the  table,  the  paper,  and  the  pen 
arrested  in  the  hand.  He  went  through  no  form 
of  merciful  preparation. 

"  Mr.  Ashe !  your  wife  is  dead !  A  severe 
shock  of  some  kind — the  nurse  thinks  you  can 
explain  it — brought  on  convulsions  and  suffusion 
of  the  brain." 

Baby  Nest  survived  her  mother  but  a  week. 
Her  father  married  again,  eighteen  months  after- 
ward, a  beautiful  society  girl  with  a  tolerable 
fortune. 

She  said  a  good  thing  in  my  hearing  the  other 
night,  which  I  offer  here  in  the  place  of  the  con- 
ventional moral,  my  story  having  none. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  all 
the  winter  ?  "  she  asked  of  a  fine-featured,  dainty 
little  old  lady,  whose  blue  blood  adds  nameless 
finish  to  the  fair  product  of  brains  and  breeding. 
"  I  have  not  seen  you  for  an  age." 

"  I  have  gone  out  to  few  large  assemblies  this 
season,"  said  Queen  Mab.  "  But  I  have  greatly 
enjoyed  certain  conclaves  of  choice  spirits,  to 
which  I  have  been  admitted.  Evenings  with  the 
Laurence  Huttons,  the  Edmund  Clarence  Sted- 
mans,  the  Brander  Matthewses,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


3M  THE  ARTICLES  OF  SEPARATION. 

William  Dean  Howells  are  something  to  be  re- 
membered forever  with  pride  and  delight." 

"  Ye-es  ?  "  the  priceless  lace  on  bust  and  sleeves 
swaying  in  the  languid  breeze  of  her  fan.  "  I 
have  heard  others  say  that  some  of  these  Bohe- 
mians are  really  very,  very  nice — don't  you 
know  ?  "  * 

*  A  verbatim  report. 


THE    END. 


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